


A Lamb for the Table

by OfTheDunedain



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Comedy, Drama, F/M, Gen, M/M, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 08:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 75,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22841440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfTheDunedain/pseuds/OfTheDunedain
Summary: Was this a twist on the “naked-in-front-of-your-classmates” nightmare? Was the old one just too mainstream for your subconscious, so it decided to go an extra mile or two? …Maybe four? It was like your brain had considered the possibility of sending you back to high school, but then thought,“nah, why not make it some gothic cult church instead?”--When you got transferred down to the Devildom to go back to school with a bunch of demons, you were honestly terrified. Still, as your year goes on, you begin to realize not everything in Hell is a demon, but not everyone who smiles at you is a friend. Thank goodness you found a rock to be by your side through this ride of a lifetime!--Non-gendered protagonist, and an ultimate twist on the plot of the game. Eventual Beel/Reader pairing.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader
Comments: 114
Kudos: 217





	1. I Have a Toothbrush

**Author's Note:**

> Non-gendered protagonist, and an ultimate twist on the plot of the game. Eventual Beel/Reader pairing!

Was this a twist on the “naked-in-front-of-your-classmates” nightmare? Was the old one just too mainstream for your subconscious, so it decided to go an extra mile or two? …Maybe four? It was like your brain had _considered_ the possibility of sending you back to high school, but then thought, _“nah, why not make it some gothic cult church instead?”_

Because why not, right?

Except, you could not remember going to sleep.

One minute you had been brushing your teeth, mindlessly deciding when you could set your alarm for the next morning knowing good and well that you would settle for the same time as always, and the next you were standing there, in a dim, dark-stone room that seemed like a judicial chamber. A judicial chamber for vampires or demons or…something. You had shrieked, of course—the sound had echoed loudly in the stark interior of the hall, until it was drowned out by your own somewhat panicked breathing and some laughter mixed with grumbling from behind a grand Bench.

That was when you had caught sight of the people sitting up there, their black uniforms unrecognizable to you, limned in the silver-light of the large hanging moon glowing outside. Five pairs of eyes trained on you, intense and as keen as flint in the darkness, and you took a step back on instinct.

With their attention on you as it was, it was impossible for them to miss the look of confusion and uncertainty that was mingling with the horror that had begun to bloom upon your face, and in response a man with tanned skin, reddish-hued hair, and a stately uniform of blood red smiled an easy greeting and motioned with a sweep of his hand to the low table with seating before the Bench as if inviting you to sit. “Welcome to the Devildom, (Y/N).”

The easy, familiar way your name rolled from the man’s lips made you freeze, passing your eyes over the rest of the faces as your mind slowly waded through his words. Devildom? Like, devil kingdom? Your pulse quickened. 

“How do you know my name?” You demanded.

A stupid question, maybe, since this was definitely all your subconscious, and of _course_ you knew your own name. Absolutely. Totally.

Hopefully you had not hit your head on anything when you passed out in the bathroom!

A ripple of movement made its way down the Bench as the others shifted in their seats. One, a young man with bright blond hair and vivid emerald eyes seemed to melt with some form of contentment into the seat he was in, amusement dancing on his face like the wicks that were burning about the hall. A second man with wheat-brown hair and rose colored eyes smirked, the motion almost feline as his silken, lithe features turned to whisper to another who sat beside him with hair like a torch. Though you could not hear him, whatever he said was unlikely to be humorous, you decided, as that tall, broad-shouldered figure absorbing the words directly was scowling harder than anyone else in the room.

It was, however, the sharp, crimson gaze of the fair-faced, onyx haired man that sat at the speaker’s right side that seemed to command the most attention. Though he smiled, the expression seemed somewhat distant, as if a swath of sea nestled between his expression and his true emotions. It was beautiful.

And also vaguely terrifying.

“I know the names of everyone participating in our program!” The tanned skin man replied. His voice was pleasant, vibrant in a way this room was not, and the subtle laughter that lied hidden beneath his words made you hesitate in your consideration to run. “Pardon me, you must be feeling a bit shocked. Understandable, as you’ve only just arrived, and a human would need a bit to adjust and get their bearings.”

He said _human_ like he and the others were exempt from such classifications, and your eyes narrowed. Well, he _had_ said Devildom before—would that make them devils? Demons? But they looked so…normal. It was like your brain had gone all out on the scenery, then got to the actual cast and said, “ _Eh, screw it. Close enough!”_

“The hell kind of dream is this?” This was the last time you let yourself binge read that manga about those children trying to overthrow a demon government to escape being farmed for food before bed.

The red-uniformed man burst into a hearty laugh, the sound filling the chamber easily. You had not meant to ask the question aloud, but it certainly was not as humorous a statement as this guy’s guffaws seemed to imply. And he was not the only one who found the question amusing; beside him, the obsidian-haired man smirked himself, a flash like ruby lightning shooting through his gaze. “Ah, brilliant! Such a human thing to say!” The laughter from the Bench finally subsided somewhat, and you could hear the man sigh into his next words as if to help regain control of his speech. “You’re going to be just what we were looking for! Please, sit. Allow me to introduce myself and explain why you’re here.”

Maybe this was the part of the dream where they claimed they were going to cook you. You could not deny that there was something heavy in the air, something that sent a prickle of unease down the length of your spine and coaxed your instincts to consider fight and flight. Your hand tightened in a fist at your side, fingers coiling around…your toothbrush? You glanced down to your hand, a frown etching on your face.

Well, if that was all your brain had armed you with, maybe flight was the better option. While most of the men before you seemed somewhat stately—like Victorian gentlemen who liked tea and books alongside their murder—the behemoth at the far end of the Bench looked like he could bench press you without breaking a sweat, and you imagined the self defense you knew would not help much if it came to blows.

Still, something else was whispering in your mind not to run, as if somehow that would be just as dangerous as taking that other guy head on, and mechanically you moved forward to slide into one of the ornate chairs that looked like they were a part of some period horror movie set.

“My name is Diavolo,” the man in red introduced himself the moment you were seated. “I’m what one would consider the ruler of all demons. Right now it’s in part without title, but someday soon I’ll be crowned king of the Devildom. For now, you can think of me as the student council president.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, marking his smiling face and somewhat friendly demeanor. _This_ guy was future king of the demons? With that affable smile and rampant laughter, he looked like he would be at home running a soup kitchen for the homeless! Though, you supposed coming on with the full fire and brimstone routine was probably not the _best_ way to recruit people to sin.

“Right now you’re standing in the Royal Academy of Diavolo,” the man continued, “though we just call it RAD.”

“RAD?” You repeated in a low whisper. Well, at least they would have ample use of _“school is cool”_ puns to keep demons from dropping out. Did demons drop out? You had never really considered demonic formal education before. Well, at least not while awake. Apparently, your brain had been running all sorts of theoreticals in its downtime.

Diavolo’s voice continued seamlessly, motioning to the grand hall you stood in. “Right now you’re in the assembly hall. It’s kind of the heart of the school, and the place where we—the student council—conduct our business.”

He paused, as if cueing you to be impressed, though honestly, you could not decide if you were. The spiel seemed to be reminiscent of a bad orientation video, though maybe that was slightly impressive in and of itself—making a school of demons sound overly formal had to be some form of talent. Was this honestly the best your brain could do? “So…why am I here?” You finally prompted.

That was when the black-haired gentleman stood, his lips curling gracefully at their corners. “Allow me to explain,” he answered, his deep tones like rich silk, or velvet. That, combined with the intensity of his fixated gaze, made your spine feel a tingle run along its length.

“(Y/N),” Diavolo interjected. “Allow me to introduce you to Lucifer. He is vice president of the student council, and my right hand man.”

Wait. Lucifer—as in _the_ Lucifer? The angel who tried to overthrow God and got himself cast out of heaven? A gasp raked over your lips, and your eyes widened somewhat. He was supposed to be one of the most glorious angels in heaven, right? The dark hair, the eyes like living garnets, the polished lay of his uniform…

Yeah, okay. You could not fault your brain on knowing what a beautiful man was supposed to look like.

Diavolo pressed on, his bright eyes more luminous than the candles in their stands. “Though it goes beyond that, I assure you!”

Beyond right hand man? Your eyes flicked over Lucifer’s facial expression, the taut, elegant, but long-suffering line of his jaw. …Embarrassment?

Holy crap, were they _lovers_?

“He’s also my best and closest friend!” Diavolo’s grin widened, laughter spilling forth in a loud crescendo that filled the assembly hall with ease.

Well, maybe not, then.

Lucifer sighed, the sound tight and quiet. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Diavolo.” It sort of looked like the student council president wanted to remark something in counter, but Lucifer turned to look at you instead. “Speaking on behalf of the entire student body at this great and storied school of ours, I offer you a most heartfelt welcome, (Y/N).”

“Um…thanks,” you managed, your fingers coiling tighter around your toothbrush as you glanced around the otherwise empty hall. The demons up on the Bench still seemed to be studying you, though. “Can you tell me why I’m here now?”

A few of the faces that were leering over the raised platform showed signs of shock, and you seemed to instinctually hold your breath as you waited for this Lucifer to answer.

“Interesting,” he hummed. The smirk on his lips relayed that _interesting_ could have been loosely interpreted as _how troublesome_ , and your throat suddenly felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. You did not know anyone in real life that could make someone’s blood run _this_ cold with just a look, but this dream seemed to know _just_ what to deliver to make it happen now. “This one is much different than Solomon.”

Who the heck was Solomon? You wanted to ask, though thought better of it for now—in part because Lucifer was now pacing behind the grand chairs of the Bench to head for the stairs with a stride that could only count as purposeful.

“Diavolo has a vision,” the man continued, his carnelian gaze upon you even as he began to descend. “One that sees the human world and the Celestial Realm working together with us. For that, one must establish strong ties to each. As a first step, we’ve decided to institute an exchange program.” He was on the ground level now, and each step he took your direction made the nervous, fluttery feeling in your chest and stomach strengthen. “We’ve sent two of our students to the human world, and two to the Celestial Realm, and in return we are welcoming four new students to our school: two from the Celestial Realm, and two from your world. Do you understand?”

No. No you did not. Why would the Celestial Realm want _demons_ running around? And why would angels—because surely that is who would have been sent back—want to be in actual Hell? Sure the math added up, but only four seemed like a small number. Maybe it was hard to get approval from the angels for this sort of open borders arrangement? Somehow you doubted anyone human-side knew it was happening. You certainly had not.

Your silence as you thought prompted Lucifer to answer for you. He halted before the table and placed both palms flat upon its surface to lean over, casting a shadow over your face. “You are one of the candidates chosen to join us here at RAD from your world—our newest exchange student.” 

“I’m flattered,” you managed meekly as you squirmed on the seat. He had been intimidating even from across the room; now that he was there, now that he was in your face, you could almost feel every nerve in your body begging you to flee, though there was a paralysis creeping in that let you know it was not going to be easy to try and move. “But I didn’t sign up for any program. I’m not even a student! Now, I have work tomorrow, so, if you’ll excuse me…”

“You are most certainly a student now,” Lucifer all but purred. “Your period of stay is one year, and you are expected to participate in RAD’s learning curriculum to the best of your ability. At the end of the year, you will submit a paper on your thoughts about the exchange.”

“But I’ve already graduated—” You tried again.

“Relax. It’s not like I’m asking you to write a doctoral thesis,” the demon before you answered lowly. “Please don’t look at me that way. Now, onto the other matters.” This dream demon did not even give you a moment to protest that the current matters were not settled; instead, he straightened, adjusting the lay of his sleeve around his wrist as he began to speak again. “Likely you have concerns about living in the Devildom among demons for the coming months. This is good—caution will be your ally here. While most believe in Diavolo’s vision, there are some who are against what he is seeking to accomplish, and others who are weak willed and will be overcome by vulgar urges when faced with a human with such a pretty soul to devour.”

Ah, there it was. The _‘they will eat me’_ moment you had figured your brain would cook up eventually.

Seriously, that manga was banned before bed from now on.

Still, hearing it uttered so casually made your limbs feel cold, and the blood drained from your cheeks.

The look of fright seemed to amuse Lucifer; his smile coiled ever so slightly tighter. “Don’t worry, we’re not throwing you to the wolves—I believe that is the human expression, is it not? I’ve taken the liberty of assigning my brother Mammon to look after you. He’s…how shall I say this?” A troubled look passed over the demon’s face before he blinked it away and reached into his coat to produce a small rectangular object with a flourish of his wrist. “No matter, you’ll see for yourself. Take this. It’s a D.D.D., much like the cell phones of your world.”

The screen glowed to life, a blood-red background making the white numbers for the time stand out like the candles in the darkness. _’66:66’_ —wait, was that the _time_? What kind of time was that? Still, otherwise it certainly looked like a standard smartphone—it even had an aux input unlike _some_ of the models you were used to. Slowly your hand reached, taking the object in hand; your eyes flicked upward to mind Lucifer’s expression, holding your breath in case this dream turned into the jump-scare type. The only change that came over his face, however, was a knowing, cool smile.

“I have taken the liberty of programming the numbers you’ll need into the contacts list. Go ahead and find Mammon’s and give him a call.” The tone that weaved from Lucifer’s lips seemed almost…dangerous. Though, whether he was directing it at you or this Mammon guy, you could not say for certain.

“All right,” you felt yourself answer on instinct. The interface of this D.D.D. was similar enough to what you knew that you found it easy enough to get to the proper entry in the contacts list. A touch of your finger to the screen, and the words _‘Calling Mammon…’_ appeared.

One ring turned to two before you could hear the distinct sound of a line clicking live.

“Yoooo,” the voice on the other end of the line greeted in a somewhat distracted, lackadaisical manner and you blinked. Did you even _know_ anyone that actually used _‘yo’_ as a greeting?

“Hi,” you answered, a sinking feeling welling in the pit of your stomach. Maybe you had the wrong number. You glanced upward, spying Lucifer’s garnet eyes as they peered at you, arms crossed and intently listening. Well, he did not look surprised—so maybe this was the right number after all.

“Who the hell are you? You ain’t Lucifer,” the voice—presumably Mammon himself—snipped back quickly.

You felt your heart skitter uneasily. Even _dream_ phone calls were the worst. What fresh hell! “Ehm, no, I’m not. My name’s (Y/N), and I’m a human who—” You began to coax yourself to explain, though you could get no further than that.

“What!? A _human_? Geez, you coulda said that sooner. Here I was panickin’ thinkin’ it was Lucifer again.” The appalled tone was mildly insulting, though you swallowed your words. Lucifer was still standing _right there_ , and judging by the way his eyes were glinting, you had a suspicion he could hear everything you could.

“Well, actually,” you tried to interject, but the demon on the other end of the line did not pause for breath.

“So what business does a human got with THE Mammon?”

Well, guess there was no use in hoping this was not your guy. The fault line that realization caused on your heart and spirit spidered outward, and your chest panged in disappointment. “I guess you’ll be in charge of me from now on. I’m—”

“No way! Absolutely not! There’s nothin’ in it for me,” Mammon scoffed. “Whaddya even mean by _‘in charge of you’_?”

Good to know he did not even know what he was talking about before replying. You took a steadying breath, wondering why your brain had decided to bundle together every poor customer you had ever had the displeasure of servicing during your previous time in retail into one demon. Maybe you needed to go to church more, or something. “I’m here for a—”

Again, Mammon gave you no time to finish your thought. “Ahhh! I get it now, you must be the other human—the new exchange student!”

“Yes,” you decided to try and fit in. It seemed one word answers, at least, you were able to eke out.

“Well, good luck with that! See ya,” Mammon volleyed back. You could almost see his thumb moving to mash down on the end call button, and you gasped, an alarmed, rushed feeling blazing at once through your veins as you considered just who was still hovering over you.

“Wait! Lucifer called for you,” you tried. It had sounded like the other demon had been worried you had been him to begin with. Maybe revealing the intention behind the call could keep him on the line.

“Pfft, whatever,” he scoffed. Well, it had worked. Almost. “Ya think THE Mammon would listen to ya just ‘cause you’re tryin’ to scare me with that name?”

A shadow fell over your features once more, and you looked up to see the onyx haired demon leaning in, hands pressed against the table and garnet eyes boring into yours. “You’ve got ten seconds,” he declared, the sound of his voice as velvety as a cello’s hum but as foreboding as a guillotine. “Ten. Nine. Eight…”

“Yessir!” Mammon near shouted back at you, and then there was nothing but silence as the call cut out completely.

The silence lingered in your ears even after you dropped the phone away, your brain whirring like some overburdened computer as you sought to establish just what had happened. Had that really been a demon on the phone? One related to the poised and, quite frankly, terrifying person standing before you? Because, honestly, it sounded like some sour high schooler.

“There. It sounded like you two had a nice chat,” Lucifer hummed. He was still smirking, the demon.

Nice chat? Is that what he was going to call that? All you knew was that if _that_ was the guy responsible for making sure you did not end up as a demon’s dinner, you might as well salt yourself and preheat the oven out of courtesy. “I think I would’ve preferred you, Lucifer,” you mumbled. At least _this_ guy could halt traffic with a single glare.

“You do appear even more worried now,” the man observed with a haze of laughter in his tone. You were not sure how you felt about being the source of his amusement, especially when it came to keeping your innards where they belonged, but all you could manage was a frown.

“Well, if you were just pulled from another world and given over to a stranger, I’m sure you’d be anxious too, Lucifer,” Diavolo observed. His eyes flickered to you, pity nearly dripping from them like a fountain. If there had been any shred of hope that Mammon could turn that initial impression around left within you, the moment you spied the student council president’s expression, you found it quite suddenly washed away. Perhaps the tan-skinned man could see it shrink, for he soon pulled his shoulders straighter and donned a more summery appearance once more. “So now is the perfect time to explain that while Mammon has been tasked by Lucifer as a primary assistant for you here in the Devildom, he is by no means the only ally you will have at your disposal. Now, Lucifer, we should go ahead and introduce (Y/N) to your other brothers—a job best left to you instead of me, wouldn’t you say?”

It seemed a reasonable enough request, though the way Lucifer’s jaw hardened and the sigh that came in a string from his nostrils made you wonder if he thought otherwise. “I suppose you’re right,” he conceded.

Was he…disappointed?

“You could show a little enthusiasm! You get to introduce _me_ , after all. I’m far sweeter and more charming than Mammon,” the wheat-brown haired man chimed musically from the Bench. Your eyes lifted, marking the easy smile that hanged on his fair features, wondering if the allure he was oozing was intentional or not.

Lucifer did not even turn to mark him. “That one is Asmodeus. He’s the fifth eldest of our family, and the Avatar of Lust.”

“Hold on, Avatar of _Lust_?” You parroted in question, brow furrowing as you snapped your eyes away from the Bench to see if Lucifer’s face showed any sign of jest. His expression remained steady and cool, though, so if he _was_ making some sort of off color joke, he had no tells.

“ _That_ one? I can’t believe you called me _that one_ ,” Asmodeus huffed, his elegant face immediately scrunching into a frown that replaced the enticing charm he had been exuding with something more alike to a chill wind in a dark cave.

“At least he didn’t ignore you all together,” the blond interjected, his tone blithe in a way that added to the blade-like quality his voice carried rather than detract. “Think about how I must feel.”

“That one there is Satan,” Lucifer spoke next. “He’s the fourth eldest.”

“ _Satan_?” You repeated. You flicked your gaze to the stately figure up on the Bench, his emerald-hued eyes almost as cold as Lucifer’s despite the rather handsome smile he was sporting.

Oh good. You were dreaming about _Satan_. And he was attractive.

If only your youth minister could see you now!

As if Lucifer could read your mind—which _of course_ was possible, since he was, after all, a creation of your subconscious—he crossed his arms and smirked down at you. “Don’t be fooled. At first glance he may seem like a responsible demon with a good head on his shoulders, but looks are often deceiving.”

You were not sure you knew quite what he meant by a _‘responsible demon’_ , exactly, so instead of replying, you looked once more to the blond upon the platform.

“ _’That one there’_ , hm? I see,” Satan mused, his attention moving from his elder brother as if he were poison to behold. Now his limpid gaze was on you, and despite the fact you knew he was a demon—not just any demon, _Satan_ —you felt your heart stutter at his fine features as they smiled to you. “Regardless it’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). As Lucifer said, I’m Satan. I’m the Avatar of Wrath.”

Wrath, huh? You wondered how someone with such a beautiful face could be the poster child of losing their cool, but you thought better than of asking. “Nice to meet you, too,” you managed, the smile you shared in return hardly as elegant as the one he had first shared with you.

“You might think so now,” Lucifer warned, “but while he may flash pretty smiles, it’s all an act. I recommend caution when dealing with him.”

A chill swept through the marrow of your bones, and you were not entirely sure if it was Lucifer’s words, the ardent, serious tone he used to craft his warning, or the sudden surge of what felt like electrostatic charge and air pressure that fell over you from the Bench that caused it. Satan was standing now, the smile he had worn those moments before gone, replaced with one that was a shoddy mask-replica of the truer expression. And that was saying nothing of the strange, swirling dark waves that seemed to ripple from his body. “Now, now, if you continue talking like that, you’ll just scare the human, _brother_ ,” he near spat. “Don’t take him too seriously, (Y/N). It’s Lucifer’s nature to speak ill of his brothers. Part of the territory with being the Avatar of Pride, you see.”

“O-oh.” Was that the right thing to say? Probably not, but it came out anyway. What were they? The seven deadly sins? Lucky for you, Lucifer seemed too preoccupied with Satan to pay your words any proper mind.

The black haired demon sighed. “Are you quite finished? Now then, the one with the grumpy look on his face is Beelzebub—he’s the sixth eldest.”

So the behemoth of a redhead had a name. If Satan had not introduced himself as the Avatar of Wrath, you _might_ have ventured to think this Beelzebub could have fit the bill. He was built like a tank, and he had not smiled even once the whole time you had been sitting there. But if he was not Wrath, you could not fathom what sin he was supposed to be.

“Lucifer, I’m hungry,” Beelzebub declared in lieu of introductions.

“That’s too bad, now behave yourself,” the elder brother declared.

The minute Lucifer had admonished him, though, the sour, grumpy look seemed to fall into something else. You had seen similar expressions on children who had dropped their uneaten ice cream on the ground. You wished you had food on you, just so you could give it to him and keep him from looking so sad! He was a giant of a demon—how could he look so pitiful?

“I’m Beelzebub,” he finally greeted, his amethyst eyes shifting to you. “I’m the Avatar of Gluttony.”

Really? Gluttony? He was _ripped_ , though. You could not explain why, precisely, you would have imagined Gluttony would look…well…more gluttonous, though your subconscious must have decided making sin look good was the name of the game. There had not been one unfortunate looking demon yet.

“Nice to meet you,” you mumbled in answer.

“There are seven of us in total, me as the eldest,” Lucifer continued seamlessly. “Even counting Mammon who is on his way, you can see some are missing from the assembly, but you’ll meet them in due time.”

“During your time here in the Devildom, you will be staying with Lucifer and the others at the House of Lamentation. Unlike the other human that was selected for the program, you have no magic power to speak of, so this is a precaution to be certain you are more than safe during your stay with us.”

You blinked once. Twice. Three times. “Wait, hold on. Did you say the other human has _magic_? I mean—who’s the other guy? Harrison Porter or something?” Could your brain pick a genre?

“Ah! A fan of that wizard boy series, I see!” Diavolo trilled excitedly. “Though, no. Seeing as he is fictional, Harrison Porter can’t come to RAD. Solomon, the human mentioned earlier, happens to have considerable magic ability. He is what is considered a sorcerer—though, I do believe most humans discount their existence.”

Okay, yeah. You recalled Lucifer saying something about you being nothing like Solomon, and if that guy could do magic, then it was not just personalities that set you apart. “So you’re telling me that magic’s real—?”

A sound like thunder ricocheted from the stone of the hall, and you gasped and wheeled as you turned in a hurry to spy the wide, open door. Your heart was pounding, even as your eyes settled on the silhouette of a man passing under the threshold. “You! Human! You’ve got some nerve summonin’ The Great Mammon here,” the man declared. Despite his bluster, his silver-white, stylish hair looked slightly unkempt as if he had been running to get there, and the tan skin of his cheeks was tinged with a pink that implied the same.

“Ah, it seems the idiot has finally arrived,” Lucifer hummed behind you. You spared a glance to see if he was in any way making a jest, though you found his expression as unreadable as ever.

Mammon, ‘ _the idiot_ ’ as the demon nearest you had called him, marched toward you with the same fury as a summer thunderhead, and you bolted to your feet to stand as he neared, just in case you needed to defend yourself or make a break for it. “So listen here, and I’m only gonna say this once. You better make this worth my while, comin’ all the way down here, so hand over all your money and everything of value you’ve got!”

The demand was just ridiculous enough to make you frown outright. “Like hell I will! Besides, I’ve only got this toothbrush, and you can’t have it!” You held it up to show him, and Mammon frowned. “If you think I carry money in pajamas—wait! Friggin’ _pajamas_?”

Now that you had taken note of your familiar tee shirt and lounge pant ensemble, you could feel a form of embarrassment begin to cook your cheeks, and a swelling feeling of indignation against your stupid brain began to rise. Well, at least your brain had not made you naked like these types of dreams tended to be in stereotype. Besides, pajamas matched your toothbrush!

…You were more than ready to wake up now, thanks.

“If you don’t hand over something that appeases me, I’ll eat you starting from the top down,” Mammon declared. His sapphire-hewn eyes, flashing like lightning and as perfectly proportioned as an artist’s rendering, blazed before you, though you found more disgust than horror coming from his visual.

“Why the hell would you start from the top? That just kills me right away, and you’re not gonna be getting anything from me after that!” Your lips twisted into a scowl. “I should at _least_ be smart enough in my subconscious to know I need to threaten to eat from the bottom up.”

“Oi, I’m the one that’ll do the threatenin’, and I’ll do it the way I want,” Mammon declared. The pinkish color of his cheeks grew just a shade darker.

“Mammon, shut up, or I’ll punch you,” Lucifer interjected in a growl.

The white-haired demon barely had time to register the interruption before a black gloved fist was flying. Mammon yowled much like a howler monkey, recoiling back as he rubbed his cheek. “What’s the big idea? I thought you were gonna give me a chance to shut up before clockin’ me!”

Lucifer gave a small satisfied sigh.

It was Satan, though, who spoke up. “You wouldn’t have shut up, Mammon. You never do,” he pointed out with a grin. His eyes slid to you once again. “(Y/N), Mammon here is the Avatar of Greed. He oversees all forms of it. So, when he takes a liking to someone, they find themselves awash with money, but when he’s tired of them it disappears completely—not even a grimm left to their name.”

“A grimm?” You muttered.

“Oh! And he’s also a masochist,” Asmodeus chimed with a fluid chuckle. “That part’s important.”

“A masochist I have a job for,” Lucifer drawled.

Mammon’s angled features immediately bunched into a frown. “Hey! Stop lyin’. I ain’t a masochist, and I coulda shut up if I wanted!” 

Whatever protests the demon sought to offer, though, did not seem to register with any of his brothers. Instead, Lucifer spoke as if Mammon had said nothing at all. “Mammon, _you_ are going to be in charge of seeing to this human’s needs during their exchange. I expect your full cooperation.”

“What!?” Mammon shouted in protest. You had to admit, you had not felt this unwanted since the kids in elementary school picked you last for kickball teams. Was this dream your way of reminding yourself what you should bring to therapy next? Because if anyone was going to be able to help sort this mess out, it was the professional you paid to listen to this crazy stuff. “Why me?” The demon demanded next.

That was a valid question, you figured; he seemed like the least responsible person there, and that included a pajama-clad human who showed up to demon-school orientation with a stupid toothbrush.

“Aren’t you lucky, Mammon? I’m so jealous,” Asmodeus purred from the Bench.

“Then you do it, Asmo,” his brother snapped. 

“Hell no. Too lazy,” the brunette quipped in reply as he sank back down into his chair, turning his attention to his fingers—or was it his nails? You could not tell from where you were standing. Still, of all the nerve…

“I thought you said you were jealous?” Mammon growled.

Satan offered his brother a wry smile. “Give it up, Mammon. You know you can’t refuse a direct command from Lucifer.”

Mammon heard, but he was not listening. “But it doesn’t have to be me! What about Beel? Why can’t _he_ do it?”

Asmodeus looked to you, eyes filled with pity. “This isn’t a job we can entrust to Beel. We might as well ask him to _eat_ this poor human.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” You squeaked. Did he have no self-control? Was it just expected that he eat anything left with him?

“Mmm. Yeah. I can’t promise I wouldn’t,” the redhead rumbled from his spot on the Bench.

This was a nightmare. A _circus_. You could not even find words.

“You’re useless, you know that?!” Mammon screeched to his brother, glaring knives.

“If I could just wake up, it’ll be over,” you muttered to yourself, though no matter how you pleaded with your brain, it seemed unable to comply to your request.

“Mammon,” Lucifer growled. A strangled noise that almost sounded like _‘what’_ came from the tanned brother’s lips before the air once more filled with that odd charge and pressure you had noted before. This time, though, it was coming from right in front of you, and it was so close the air around you seemed to try and suffocate you in response. “ _Surely_ you aren’t going to tell me you object to this arrangement, are you?”

It only took a heartbeat of silence for Mammon to come to his conclusion. “Fine. I hate you guys. Every last one of ya!” He turned to you, his eyes bright and colder than ice. “All right, _human_ , listen up. As much as I don’t want to look after you, I’ve got no choice. It’s a huge pain in the ass, and frankly I’m too important, but Lucifer said to, so I will.”

Yeah, you had been there listening to the whole thing, so you already knew. You frowned.

“But in return, you better make sure you don’t cause any trouble. Got it?” His eyes narrowed, the air thick with the threat that hanged in between you.

“Seriously, the _hell_ kinda dream is this?!” You grumbled under your breath.

“Hello? Earth to human!” Mammon waved a hand in front of your face, a frown upon his lips as he glanced to Lucifer. “Is this one broken?”

“It seems they still think this is a dream,” the Avatar of Pride purred with a chuckle. “No matter. When we take them shopping tomorrow for something more appropriate for their first day in class, it’ll sink in.” He paused, perhaps waiting to see if you had any remark left for him, though your mind was far too busy with its own, different monologue. Lucifer looked to Mammon. “Take them back to the House of Lamentation and see them settled in the spare room beside the kitchen.”

“Pft, fine,” Mammon growled in answer. His hand hooked around your upper arm, the squeeze painful, and what should have been your _first_ hint that this was not actually a passing fantasy caused by REM hallucinations.

“Ow! Hey!” You piped.

“C’mon on,” the silvery-haired demon answered, his hold not lessening in the slightest. “Don’t ya dare keep THE Mammon waiting.”

Before you could even protest a single word, you were being dragged right out into literal Hell.

And you did not even have shoes. 


	2. The Cursed Dollhouse of Prophecy

Your first thought upon exiting the council hall was there was a lot less fire than you were expecting. The second was, _‘wow, it sure is dark!’_.

You could see that beyond the school, across a small stone bridge, was a veritable city _._ Lights twinkled like stars from windows, the colors ranging from general yellow tones to bright neons and touching almost everything in between. It was no New York, London, or Tokyo, but this Devildom business sure was not some backwoods operation either. So _maybe_ your brain dropped you in the middle of a nightmare in pajamas, but it at _least_ was kind enough to not make you claustrophobic with skyscrapers.

Small victories.

Still, with your attention trapped by the features you could see in the distance—was that a _castle?_ —you found your feet having trouble with the dim path you were following. The ball of your foot scuffed against pavement as you near jogged to keep up with the pace Mammon had set, and you hissed through your teeth, struggling to rip yourself from his tight fingers. “Hey, could you slow down?”

“Ugh, like I wanna touch a human anyway,” the demon scoffed, dropping your arm with such force that you actually stumbled. “And your kind are always so slow. C’mon, hurry it up! The House of Lamentation’s up there.” He motioned, vaguely, toward literally everything you could see.

Helpful.

You lifted a hand to rub your wrist, a frown of indignation rising to your lips. Still, instead of offering any words, you tried to sift through your memories; mainly, what the _hell_ had you eaten before bed that was giving you such a vivid dream? You seemed to recall that dairy could do it, but it was not like you had never had cheese at dinner before. Was garlic a possibility? No. You quickly dismissed that idea; you were a firm adherent to the ancestor method of seasoning—mainly, you threw in as much as you could until you were certain your great-grandmother was whispering for you to stop—and this lucid, vivid dreaming had _never_ happened before.

So, maybe it was stress?

Things at work had been standard corporate games lately, but maybe that announcement of a reorg had bothered you more than you had realized.

Still, it did not really matter, you supposed. Whatever it was, you were stuck nearly jogging to keep up with the strides of some avatar of sin as you wandered through the dark. And _man_ , was it dark. The moon you had spotted through the window of the student council audience chamber was now mostly covered by thick, black cloud, and there was not a single star in sight. “Do you guys have student council meetings in the middle of the night often?” You asked, finally breaking the silence.

Mammon clicked his tongue, shooting you a look that very well told you how many brain cells he thought you were sporting. “It ain’t the middle of the night, it’s the afternoon. Friggin’ humans are so _dumb_.”

“It’s pitch black! How the hell am I supposed to know it isn’t midnight?” You puffed.

“It’s always dark here! Not like we’ve got a sun or nothin’,” Mammon grumbled, finally coming to a halt and turning to face you. His hands lifted to set upon his hips, and his eyes glowered down at you as if appraising you.

Maybe he was. He was the Avatar of Greed, right? You could almost see him doing the math to see what a human of your make was worth on the black market. You wondered if he was docking the price for intelligence, too, or if it was _just_ going to be the pajamas and dirty feet.

Ultimately, though, he heaved a sigh and did not give you the sum total. “I don’t believe this. Of all the rotten luck,” you heard him grumble as he began to walk again. You were across the bridge now, the road you were following winding its way through the dark, and entirely uncomfortable beneath your feet. You followed it for a time in silence, trying to keep up with Mammon’s maddened pace, the only sound flitting between you the eerie calls of some kind of corvid, Mammon’s unintelligible grumbling, and the faint echoes of life from further into town.

Eventually, the road met up with another, the perpendicular route trailing up a large hill. Unlike the road you had walked down, there was considerably more light here, a fact you credited to the buildings that lined the way. Streetlamps glowed in blotches, and some of the manicured plants you could see beneath windows had faint luminescent qualities. None of the buildings looked to be in a poor state of repair either, though you saw nobody around. The emptiness was somewhat unnerving.

“…What are these buildings?” You inquired.

“You ain’t ever seen dormitories before?” Mammon grunted.

“I mean, yes,” you answered, and as your eyes cased them again you began to note some familiar dorm-ish qualities. Still, they lacked students. You could remember in college there always being someone hanging around the housing buildings; solitude had been impossible. “They look pretty empty for a dorm, though.”

“Psh. Of course they are! Everyone’s in class. You don’t expect ’em to skip school, do ya?” Mammon declared.

“Is that where you were?” You inquired somewhat guiltily, recalling the phone call from earlier. You felt a bit bad if he had been trying to listen to a lecture when you bothered him. Not that you had really had a choice.

“Hell no,” the white-haired demon snorted. “I was talkin’ to my agent about my next gig.”

“…Oh.”

Silence returned. You were hobbling now, the pads of your feet rather scuffed and somewhat swollen by the pace and batter against what would pass for Devildom concrete, though you still did your best to follow the Avatar of Greed as he moved. Slowly, the housing began to dwindle, the path’s incline grew stronger, and eventually the dormitories disappeared completely. You began to wonder if this was the part of the dream where Mammon turned out to be a murderer and your body was never found, but that line of thought ended the moment you noticed the large, final structure at the end of the path. The Avatar of Greed slowed to a stop, glancing back impatiently for you to catch up to him, hands resting upon his hips.

This was it? _This_ was the House of Lamentation?

You gulped, your saliva feeling thick for some reason as your heart began to race. Your fingers twitched, tightening around the toothbrush you carried and drawing it against your chest like it was some kind of security blanket. To call it a _‘house’_ was, frankly, laughable. What you saw was a mansion, dark gables and shadowed walls rising from the top of the hill behind an iron-wrought fence. The architecture looked human, like one of those old houses you would see in Europe, maybe. There was a golden gleam coming from inside, spilling out of the wide windows to cast long, dangerous shadows on the grasses around it. You had never imagined seeing a living space with lights on could be just as frightening as seeing it completely encompassed in darkness, but you felt a shiver crawl up your spine as a figure passed by one of the second story windows, seemingly halting to look down to the gate where you and Mammon were standing.

You were no paranormal expert, but if anything was ever going to be haunted in the history of ever, it was this mansion, right here. Maybe the reason it was called the House of Lamentation was because ghosts prowled the halls, moaning and murdering when it _was_ actually midnight. That seemed like something your brain would cook up if it was going to go for this stereotypical in design.

Okay, maybe your mind was running away with you. Your dream was dabbling in at least three different genres right now—did Ikémen count as a genre?—and so far ghosts were not in the mix. Besides, _demons_ would never let spooky apparitions haunt their homes, right?

Though, as you flicked your eyes back to the upper story window and saw that the shape there had completely disappeared, you rescinded that thought.

Logic be damned—this place was absolutely, one hundred percent haunted.

When you finally caught up to the white haired demon and he began to reach for the latch to swing the gate open, you felt yourself whimper. “Please not this house,” you prayed to God himself, to the top demon of this hellscape, to your own imagination, to anyone who would listen, really.

And every last one of them ignored you.

Well, you supposed it was ultimately you who ignored you, because this was all an illusion; you needed to have some firm words with yourself the _minute_ you were awake.

To top it off, Mammon was still talking to himself. “Why should _I_ have to look after some human? It’s insultin’, that’s what it is! That rotten bastard…does he really think he can scare me into doin’ what he wants?”

You were only half listening, the stream of words a garbled background hum as you gaped horrified at this building you were apparently supposed to sleep in. In fact, you did not hear Mammon’s words at all until he spun and pointed to you.

“Just so we’re clear, It’s not like I can’t say no to Lucifer, okay?!”

Wait. What? Satan had _literally_ said Mammon could not refuse a direct request back in the council hall, right? You blinked, brow furrowing slowly.

“I only agreed to babysit you because, um…well, you know. Because…uh…”

This was just painful to listen to, now. You fought back a sigh.

“Actually! It doesn’t matter! Just don’t go thinkin’ that I’m scared of Lucifer or anythin’, because I’m not!”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpanned. You did not believe that for a minute; though, honestly, you were scared of Lucifer too, so it was not like you were going to berate him for it. This was just some dumb image-saving thing, you imagined. And you had thought _Lucifer_ was supposed to be the Avatar of Pride. “Honestly, I really don’t care,” you finally added with a shrug.

Mammon’s eyes widened, a jolt passing through his body as if he had been shocked by some low-level electrical current. “What!?” He cried, his surprised expression crumbling to something a bit darker. “Oh, now you’re _really_ in for it…!” He took a step forward, and the demon bent, lowering his face to glare into your eyes directly. From this distance you could make out the flecks of gold in his irises—in part because they were flashing light like lightning in a storm. It was pretty, in a way. That storm, though, cleared almost as quickly as it had rolled in, the tan-skinned demon frowning in thought. “Although, come to think of it, I’m surprised you’ve got the guts to talk to me like that. You’re not scared? I mean, I’m a _demon_. You get that, right?”

You had half a mind to say that after meeting Lucifer, Mammon just was not all that intimidating, though you instantly thought better of it. Instead you shrugged. Besides, that was not the only reason. “I don’t have to be scared,” you finally said, maybe in part to convince yourself. “I mean, none of this is real anyway, right? Because this is crazy.”

Mammon’s face clouded somewhat, his lips pressing into a tight line. He studied your face a moment before looking back toward the house behind the fence. When he finally peered back at you, you almost thought he looked like he had a mind to say something, but all that left his lips was a small _‘hmph’_. “You’re one strange human, I’ll give ya that. Whatever, let’s go.”

Without any additional flourish, the white-haired demon shoved open the gate, and you found yourself being led right to the obviously-haunted-mansion’s front door. It was dark wood, tall, and when Mammon pressed on it, it opened inward with that creak that every horror movie loved to use. You shivered, though passed inside without any outward protest. It was not like Mammon was going to listen to you, anyway.

You had never seen a foyer like this. In fact, you would have moved to call it a vestibule. A rich grey rug with an intricate thorny vine and leaf motif spread like a runner over the marble flooring straight down the center of the room, and two grand staircases hugged the walls on either side to guide someone by two large draconic gargoyles and up onto the second story. To your left you could see a…dollhouse?

It was strange, though; it looked just like the building you were standing in, the walls, floors and ceilings undulating into and out of existence before your eyes. You could see what looked to be doll furniture in various places that maybe aligned with the interior of the house, but what caught your eye the most was the pair of little miniatures that were standing in the entry by the door. One had bright white hair, the other…well, it looked familiar. _Really_ familiar.

Like _I-just-bought-a-custom-miniature-of-myself-for-my-self-insert-table-top-RPG_ familiar.

You were not an expert on cursed objects either, but this dollhouse was absolutely one. You gasped, pointing to the creepy model as you turned to ask your demon-sitter what precisely this was. However, Mammon absolutely ignored your show of unease, and barreled into speech before you could make a single sound; it seemed relatively on brand based on how the phone call you had shared earlier had gone. 

“This is the House of Lamentation. It’s one of the dorms here at RAD,” Mammon declared, motioning to the grand entry with a flourish. “Well, it’s not JUST one of the dorms. It’s the dorm reserved for student council members. Lucifer, Asmo, and the others take every chance they can get to insult me. Callin’ me scum, sayin’ that I’m a money-grubber and stuff…but I’m an officer on the council the same as them. The elite of the elite! The TOP of the RAD social pyramid!”

You were not sure where this was going, really, but you could not interrupt him to ask your question about the dollhouse. The demon’s eyes were closed, and he certainly did not seem to care about the small distressed sound you made when you saw _another_ miniature, one with purple hair, appear in the hall upstairs like some kind of stop-action horror sequence. “Mammon,” you tried.

It did not work. “In other words, I’m a big shot. A REAL big shot. Like, even regular big shots are impressed by what a big shot I am. So don’t go thinkin’ I’m just some ordinary demon. I’m nothing like those other peons walkin’ the halls here!”

“Um, Mammon?” You tried again, eyes watching as the purple-haired miniature blinked into and out of existence, creeping down the hallway at an alarming rate.

“By the way,” the demon added, lifting a finger to grab your attention. “Diavolo is even MORE of a big shot. He’s so important that he’s got his own castle, so he doesn’t live here with us. Anyway, the long and short of it is that the rest of the council, that's us seven brothers, all live here together.” You tried to use his focus on you to direct him to the dollhouse, but to no avail. Was this guy deaf? Blind? Or maybe Lucifer had been right, and Mammon was just an idiot.

“Mammon,” you tried again, voice almost a whine. The miniature was blinking in sight again—the next one, you were sure, was going to put it at the top of the stairwell!

“Dammit, you’re so needy! Look, fine! I’ll show you to your room now,” Mammon grumbled. “But listen here, I’m gonna give ya a piece of advice. If ya wanna survive a day here in the Devildom, you’d better listen real close to what I’m about to say: if it ever looks like a demon’s about to attack ya, run away. Either that, or die.”

Well, you _had_ tried to get Mammon’s attention, but now was likely the _‘time to die’_ part of the dream, because you could now see someone at the top of the stairs, purple hair aflutter as they barreled down toward you. “How about this? I vote YOU to die, Mammon!” The purple-haired young man growled along the way.

While the white-haired demon had not so much as acknowledged your voice once during his tangent about his own importance, you could make out the distinct jolt of his limbs that indicated Mammon was at attention the _second_ this new voice cut through the interior of the hall. He wheeled. “D’ah! Levi!”

This _Levi_ barreled to a halt only a pace away from Mammon and yourself, and you found yourself taking an involuntary step backward to try and maintain some distance between you. He looked too corporeal to be a ghost, you decided upon inspection; still, his eyes were simmering like oil in a pan, and this guy looked roughly the same height as Mammon even _with_ a slump to his shoulders.

While you were relatively unsurprised that your dreams had designed demons to be somewhat on the tall side—Lucifer had not been average before, either—you _were_ somewhat mystified by the fact you had decided to give this particular manifestation bad posture.

There was only a fraction of a moment where Mammon glanced to you, his attention locking upon this new figure directly afterward. “Uh, listen up, human! This here is Leviathan, the Avatar of Envy. He’s the third oldest of us brothers,” he offered by way of explanation. Again the white-haired demon glanced to you.

Was he checking to see if you were all right? Your chest felt somewhat warm with relief. Maybe you had misjudged him after all. Leviathan had not even looked your way yet.

“Since his name is somewhat hard to say,” it really was not, but you let Mammon do his talking thing since you knew you could not stop him anyway, “you can just call him Levi! Okay, moving on.”

“Mammon,” Leviathan growled, stepping in front of his brother as the elder of the two sought a quick retreat toward the hall that passed between the stairs and led to the interior of the first floor. “Give me back my money! Then, go crawl in a hole and die.”

“Oi,” Mammon quipped. “I told you I’d get it to you! I just need a little more time. And you still want me to die even after I give it back? That’s real harsh!”

You did admit that it seemed somewhat…extreme. Still, what with the burning glower of Leviathan’s golden eyes, you thought better than of saying so yourself.

The purple-haired demon scoffed, his lip lifting in what was effectively a snarl. “‘ _A little more time’_? How much more, exactly?”

Mammon frowned. “A little more, okay?! A little more means a little more!”

This situation was starting to feel strange; not that you were overly sure what you thought demons fought over, but the fact this one was about borrowed money and disdain for the empty evasive excuses on why it could not be returned struck you as rather human. In fact, you were pretty sure you had had this fight once—you had _been_ Leviathan.

Still, Mammon was the Avatar of Greed, right? Satan had said he was in charge of all forms of it and people he liked were _‘awash with money’_. Maybe he did just need a week or something for a paycheck to hit. Did demons work? Well, actually, if they went to school, they needed an education for something, right? Though, maybe the problem was that Mammon did not like his brother? Satan had also said that he would leave someone without a grimm to their name if he got tired of them, whatever a grimm was.

“You’ve been telling me that for the past two hundred years, Mammon!” Leviathan roared.

Oh my god. _Two hundred years_?

“Hey! No!” Mammon declared, frowning harder. “It hasn’t been two hundred years!”

You found yourself nearly sighing in relief. Thank goodness it had been an exaggeration! You were not sure what could ever prompt someone to be _that_ rude to a sibling who fronted money when they were in trouble. You, too, would have been jumping on that bandwagon of considering Mammon scum otherwise.

“It’s been two hundred _sixty_! Get it right, Levi!”

“Seriously, two hundred and _sixty years_?!” You found yourself exclaiming. Not that either of the demons before you paid you any mind.

Well, that was that. Might as well make a _‘Mammon is scummy’_ sign.

Leviathan’s eyes narrowed, and you wondered if his opinion of his brother had dropped more or if it had already been at the bottom of the mud-caked barrel. “Unbelievable,” he growled. “Seriously, Mammon, you’re—”

Mammon took a step forward, squaring his shoulders as if in challenge. Leviathan did not flinch. “I’m what, Levi? Scum? Is that what you’re gonna say?” There was a dip in the white-haired demon’s tone, one that threaded danger into the already tumultuous air.

Despite his imposing stance, it seemed not enough to get Leviathan to writhe. “You’re a lowlife and a waste of space,” the younger one finished without hesitation.

 _That_ seemed to deflate Mammon’s sails, and his dangerous vibe seemed lost once more beneath that veneer of a sour school kid. “Hey! Come on, that’s even worse!”

“Whatever, just give me back my money,” Leviathan clucked impatiently, holding out a hand in demand. “I need to buy the Blu-ray box set of _Journey to the Devildom: The Tale of a Little She-Devil and Her Reluctant Companion_.” A little spark came over the third eldest, his furious scowl lifting in excitement even if only a shade. “The initial copies include promotional tickets to a live event as a special bonus!”

Well, two things were confirmed for you in that short amount of time: one, the Devildom had some sort of film studio or something. Two, they used the _same_ hook tactics as the companies you were used to in real life that got you every time. Despite the situation being as tense as it was, you found yourself on the verge of encouraging Leviathan with an, _‘Oh yeah! You definitely need that preorder bonus!’_

At least some part of your brain was working though, and you swallowed the words before they made you look like a complete idiot.

Mammon, however, did not seem to find the tickets valuable at all. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talkin’ about, Levi,” he said flatly. How the Avatar of Greed could not understand the value of an exclusive preorder bonus, you were not entirely sure.

Was that what this dream was? A fight between the you that was bamboozled by free add-ons and the part of you that tried to control spending? No, you decided immediately, that did not make any sense; Mammon could not have been a representation of your spending habits—not really. You were beginning to get the impression that he could not budget anything at all. Not that you would have called yourself the most adultiest of adults around, but you were holding strong enough to feel leaps ahead of the Avatar of Greed.

Crap! Then was this about the time you had borrowed twenty bucks from your parents and never paid them back? You had not even realized guilt was eating you up this bad.

Mammon offered a low growl, his borderline deadpan expression falling back into one of frustration. “Look, it doesn’t matter! I don’t have the money to give you. How am I supposed to give back money I don’t have, huh?” You supposed that would have been a valid point, if he had not been avoiding the issue for over two hundred years. You had only just met this demon, of course, but there was already a strong niggle in your mind that this was a lie.

Leviathan lowered his head a little, the angle reminiscent of an angry bull. All you could see were his somewhat iridescent gold irises peering out from under his purple bangs; his shoulders tightened, as did the fist at his side. The atmosphere was thrumming, much in the way Lucifer and Satan had managed earlier in the council hall, and the air in your lungs felt like it warbled. “Are you telling me that you _refuse_ to pay me back?” He tested.

Mammon seemed to soak in his brother’s aura mostly unbothered. “…So what? You lookin’ for a fight, is that it?”

You could not help but think goading an already furious person with a challenge like that was not the smartest idea, and it startled you enough that you almost missed the fact that Mammon _never denied refusing._ Almost.

You blinked. “Wow,” you interjected properly into the conversation for the first time since it had started. For a second, Leviathan’s eyes flicked to you; you wondered if he had seen you before, or if this was his first time realizing he was not alone. “So you really are a lowlife, Mammon?” You asked.

The look on the white-haired demon’s face immediately soured. “Hey, don’t you go callin’ me a lowlife, human!” His eyes bounced between you and Leviathan, and for a moment you hoped that the thoughts you could see churning in his head had _something_ to do with finding whatever money he owed Leviathan. After all, now he was confronted with two people who were disappointed and upset. “Hey,” he said, finally shifting to you in full. “Remember what I said about what to do when demons attack?”

“…Yeah?” You answered, the sound of your voice uneasy.

“Good. Well, you’re about to witness it for real.” Mammon looked back to his younger brother, and you gripped your toothbrush tighter in your fist. Was _he_ going to attack you? Or was he saying _Leviathan_ was going to attack you? Or was Mammon going for Leviathan? Your saliva felt thick again, and you swallowed with some difficulty. “So time to die, human, because if it’s either you or me, it ain’t gonna be me!”

“Hold on, I thought your advice was to run away or—” Leviathan suddenly interjected with a thoughtful and confused furrow of his brow.

You barely had time to register the words yourself before you felt a definitive _whoosh_ of moving air, and the white-haired demon you had been following seemingly had completely disappeared by the time you had blinked. “Wait, _what_?” You exclaimed. The door slammed shut behind you as if it had just been used once more, and you nearly jumped from your skin at the sound as you wheeled to stare at the brown, blank wood. Mammon was gone. “Are you kidding me?!”

“Dammit, Mammon!” You heard the exasperated bellow behind you, and with a snap of your lungs and a turn fast enough to near make you dizzy, you faced Leviathan once more. The purple-haired demon was puffing in fury, his skin reddening all the way down to his neck. “That ass! He ran off!”

“U-um,” you stammered, unsure what to say to assuage this situation. “Please don’t kill—”

Maybe you had not even actually said that aloud, because Leviathan’s eyes snapped from the door to you like some kind of laser pointer. “Do you realize what just happened? Mammon used you as a distraction to get away from me! Or maybe I should say he used you as a sacrifice.”

Oh god. You were absolutely going to get eaten. Though that meant you would wake up, right? Still, you were surprised by how much you really did not want to be demon food regardless.

“I’ll admit that Mammon is one of the scummiest scumbags you’ll ever met—a total lowlife. But still, that was pretty dumb of you letting him use you like that!”

You could not tell if Leviathan was pitying you, or just plain insulting you. “Look, it’s been a rough night. Afternoon. Whatever,” you grumbled, nearly hearing Mammon’s declaration about the time and your intelligence in your mind all over again. “I’m having a hard time keeping up with this circus.”

Leviathan actually sighed, his already drooped shoulders falling forward a shade more as he either relaxed or resigned himself to eat you as a consolation prize to hold him over until he could catch his brother again.

You really, _really_ hoped it was the first one.

“This is why humans are so—” He started, rolling his eyes before coming to a startling halt. “Wait a second! Humans.”

Oh no. This was the moment where he realized he could eat you, you were sure of it.

“…Yes,” Leviathan hummed to himself, fingers tapping his chin as his thoughts percolated. A smirk curled on his face, his yellow-gold eyes glinting; he looked like a mad scientist. “Suddenly, I’ve got an idea.” He turned to you, taking a step closer. He really was tall, and you felt as if you were shrinking on the spot. “Listen, are you free right now? Of course you are, you’ve gotta be, right?”

“Um,” you started.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter,” Leviathan interrupted shaking his head. “You’re coming with me.”

Somehow, you doubted it was because he wanted company for tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I am humbled by everyone's kind words regarding this work so far. I hope I can deliver for you! =] 
> 
> Here is chapter two! I hope you enjoy!


	3. "Can You Pull in Leviathan With a Fishhook or Tie Down Its Tongue With a Rope?"

You were halfway up the stairs when your D.D.D. cawed at you, nearly leaving you leaping from your skin. Whoever decided the volume should be that high—no, actually, whoever thought the phone should be on anything other than vibrate—had been _wrong_. You would have to figure out how to flip the sound off later. 

First, there was something else on your mind: you had only been in the Devildom for less than an hour—who in the world was contacting you? You dropped your eyes to your screen, finding Mammon’s name written in a banner under an alert: _“You Have a Message!”_

It was enough that you paused on your hike up the stairs, hurriedly unlocking the phone to see just what this guy had bothered to send; you could think of a few choice words you would have given _him_ , after all, but could not fathom what on earth he would have wanted to say to the person he had just left to be ritually consumed in a haunted house.

**Mammon:** Heya! I suddenly remembered I have some business I gotta take care of, so if ya need something, just ask Levi.

 **Mammon:** [Winking Demoji]

 **Mammon:** Oh, and just to make sure, don’t go telling stuff to Lucifer, ya got that?

 **Mammon:** [Glaring Demoji]

His messages were coming rapid fire—almost as fast as his escape had been. “Don’t tell Lucifer?” You repeated aloud. You were pretty sure corpses could not tell anyone anything. Well, unless that someone was like a medical examiner—which, for some reason, you did not think fit Lucifer’s image.

You sent back the very same glaring demoji sticker that the Avatar of Greed had sent you so that he knew you were perturbed, and then locked your D.D.D. once more; Leviathan had already reached the top of the stairs, and the way his eyes peered down at you like cattle prods made you want to pick up the pace a little. If he _was_ going to eat you, it stood to reason that the less upset he was with your pace, the less painful you could request your death to be.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Either way, with a sigh you began your ascent once more. Once you had gotten all the way to the crest of the stairwell, Leviathan took off again, eyes glancing every direction as he went. He examined the closed doors you both passed, the far end of the Hall, and even turned around as if to check behind you; you were ultimately unsure whether he was doing this because he was making sure nobody edged in on his meal, or if there was some greater terror in the House of Lamentation beyond that of a powerful demon you probably should know about.

In fact, you had in mind to ask, but before you could, Leviathan did yet another glance around the hall, nodded to himself, initiated an almost inaudible countdown starting from three, and then, when the number reached one, thrust open what you presumed to be his bedroom door and ducked inside. You had little choice but to follow, and his hurried pace set yours a little quick as well.

Leviathan seemed a little nervous. Or…winded? Seriously, was there something that dangerous living in the halls outside? _Were ghosts more powerful than demons?_ Your furrowed brow must have caught the Avatar of Envy’s attention, because at once he pushed himself from the door, giving you a sour look. “What? You want to know why I looked around to see if anyone was watching before I closed the door?”

“Well, y—” You began to agree.

Leviathan was already scoffing his answer. “Why do you THINK I did it? Isn’t it _obvious_? I mean, imagine what would happen if someone saw me inviting _you_ to my room? A human!”

You had not considered the fact that humans might be considered dirty in the Devildom, or maybe of the same caliber as pets. After all, the implication of being a demon was that one was powerful, right?

“A human who doesn’t even look like an otaku, but a _normie_! You know what people would say, right?”

So of course someone like you, who could not even do magic like that other human, was probably more like a stray rabbit or— _wait_. You paused your own thoughts like it was a MeTube video, processing what you thought you had heard as silence fell upon you. Still, no matter how many times you mulled over the words, they were the same.

“Um,” you pressed awkwardly. “Actually, I _am_ a bit of an otaku. Are…are _you_ an otaku, Leviathan?”

His eyes widened somewhat, raking his eyes over your pajamas as if trying to decide whether he believed you. “Really? You are…?” 

“Yeah, I’d think so. My favorite animes are _I Want to be King of the Pirates, But I Ate a Cursed Fruit and Now I’m a Rubber Man and Can’t Swim But I Won’t Let That Stop Me_ , and of course _I Started Out With No Powers, But Now I’ve Inherited a Cool One From My Favorite Superhero of All Time So I Can be the Number One Hero_ ,” you started, but Leviathan puffed his cheeks in agitation.

“W-well, whatever! If you think that means I’ll give you special treatment now, you’ve got another thing coming! Because I won’t!”

You shrugged and nodded. This guy was the powerful demon lord out of the two of you—letting him set the boundaries seemed the smartest choice. “Y-yeah, all right,” you tried to assuage, finally letting your eyes rove over the room.

Your first thought was that you were standing in an aquarium. Blue walls and blue floors surrounded you, light of similar coloring spilling over them all in rippling waves; you had seen lamps that plugged in and used moving mirrors to mimic an ocean’s surface in the human world, though you were unsure if Leviathan had any of those himself. If he did, you could not hear their motor over the sound of a filtration system in the _massive_ aquarium on the other side of the room or the pause-screen music on the game that was loaded up on the PC at the desk. The light seemed to be coming from lamps over the tank, and from there it was bleeding out through the water and glass, giving the illusion that the whole room was sunken.

Actually, that made sense; you seemed to recall that Job had a passage about a leviathan, and how it was a monster of the waters. It was mentioned alongside a ‘behemoth’, too. Idly you wondered if that meant you would meet them next.

Beyond the striking color, a few other things stood out: like the fact that the aquarium seemed empty save for the most realistic ocean decorations you had ever seen. There were also fake jellyfish dangling from the ceiling, and honestly, it was rather relaxing. You might have been able to fall asleep in there yourself had there been a place to do so, but as you looked around you realized _there was no bed in sight_. There was a bathtub sitting in the middle of the room with a bunch of pillows in it, however, and you wondered if that was, essentially, the same thing. Posters of anime shows and what looked like idol bands plastered the wall, making it feel somewhat familiar at least. Between the gothic assembly hall and the haunted entry, this was by far your favorite dream aesthetic.

But the things that finally drew you away from the door were the bookshelves that were packed with figurines and texts—there were mangas you had never heard of before almost everywhere you looked, though a certain assemblage of books had an almost reverent place on the shelves, and these caught your eye. You took a step forward to peer at them. _The Tale of the Seven Lords_ by Christopher Peugeot.

Leviathan was tailing you as you approached his collection, peering over your shoulder to see what it was that caught your interest. “What is it, human? What’re you looking at?” He inquired, much like if you were a scent dog who caught the whiff of a trail.

_Good, human! Sit, human! Want a treat?_

You reminded yourself you had likened yourself to appearing like a pet just a moment ago before you had gotten on the otaku bus to begin with, so, really, you had seen this coming. You turned to smile to the purple-haired demon. “Sorry, I was just checking out your collection, here. It’s displayed like my _Master of Hand Jewelry_ trilogy, so I assumed this must be your favorite.”

“Wait, wait, wait—are you a fan of _The Tale of Seven Lords_ , too?” Leviathan asked, and for a moment instead of a demon, he felt more like someone you actually had met at a convention somewhere.

“Actually, I’ve never heard of it before,” you offered, drawing a smile to your lips. You were about to ask for a synopsis—you were always looking for new things to try—but you swallowed your question and your smile faded as the borderline amicable face you had just been looking at drew away in horror.

“Excuse me? You don’t know TSL? And you call yourself a human?!”

“Actually, to be totally fair, I don’t think I’ve ever called myself a human before today,” you tried to interject. After all, everyone you met was human, it was understood and _implied_ that you were human. Saying it out loud, even being _called_ that like a name was weird to you.

Leviathan did not seem to care. “Just how clueless ARE you? How could you not know?!”

“Well,” you started to defend yourself. You decided that bulldozing conversations must run in the family, as Leviathan barreled through your words just like Mammon had earlier.

“Just the fact that you don’t know TSL alone is proof you’ve been wasting your life! So, I’m going to do you a favor and teach you about TSL. Make sure you pay attention!”

You realized too late you were in dire need to buckle up; the rollercoaster you had just joined was going too fast already. Leviathan lit up like a lamp, half singing his wisdom as he happily divulged all of the baseline knowledge he thought you needed. You were not sure how he had managed to not stop for breath that whole time, but you were impressed nonetheless. In fact, you were intrigued by the book series too; one hundred thirty-two volumes in one hundred eighty-two languages meant it was definitely a big deal.

When he got to the movie reviews, though, your head started feeling like it was swimming in the fish tank on the other side of the room, and by the time Leviathan was giving you a run down of the brothers and their personalities, you began to suspect that Peugeot _might_ have garnered at least partial inspiration from the family of demons you had met in the past hour.

If Henry had been ripped from the mortal world and dropped into a demon school, it could have been a biography about you right now! Name changed to protect identities, of course.

“Oh!” Leviathan trilled excitedly. “And then there’s that one really awesome moment when Henry and the Lord of Shadows realize they both like and respect each other, and they high-five! I just LOVE that part, you know? I wish I could have a moment like that.” The joyful longing on his face was enough to draw a smile back to your lips.

“What, a high-five?” You partially laughed. “You can totally get a high-five someday, Leviathan,” you encouraged. It was rather sweet he wanted one, actually.

He glared at you, his expression falling into a bit of a pout. “As if! …I wish I could be like the third lord. I may be a recluse like him, but we’re totally different, because he’s got an amazing friend like Henry.”

That cleared the smile from your face in a hurry; you were not sure if Leviathan even registered how lonely that made him sound, because he instantly was turning to nod toward the giant, empty aquarium.

“Check it out. See that goldfish in the fish tank there? He’s actually named Henry. I love TSL so much that I couldn’t help naming him after the main character.”

For a moment you could not see Henry at all. The rocks, the bright corals, the sea grass and kelp-like plants stole all of the attention; still after a moment you caught a glint of something golden-orange, the same color as Leviathan’s eyes, coming right by the glass. “Aww, cute,” you remarked. You wondered if he was the happiest goldfish ever for having his own private ocean to cruise through. 

Leviathan sighed, shoulders drooping. “But I can’t really high-five a goldfish, can I?”

“I believe it’s called _‘giving fin’_ in that case,” you grinned up to the demon, but his eyes merely gawked down at you as if your poor joke was like a carcass or something. “Ever seen _‘Looking for Omen’_? The clownfish in that, after meeting some surfer turtles, says, _‘gimme some fin’_ —you know what? Nevermind.”

“Isn’t that a kids movie?” Leviathan sneered.

“Hey, I watch what I want, thanks,” you countered.

“High-fives only mean something when done with a _human_ ,” Leviathan stressed, frowning down at you. “You know, the author of TSL is actually human. _That’s_ why I’m so jealous of you guys. You’re so lucky! You’ve got subscription services that let you watch your favorite anime anytime, you can go to Akihabara whenever you want!”

“Um, not everyone gets to do that,” you tried to interject, but Leviathan was deaf to your words. Maybe you wasted the only option to have him pay attention to you with a bad fish joke.

Still, now that he was on a roll, you were really starting to see the _Avatar of Envy_ kicking in, and the longer his rant became, the clearer it was to you that he was not jealous of humans as a whole—he was primarily jealous of the citizens of Japan. He wanted to be there to soak up the culture, he wanted to cosplay Henry, and he wanted to perform the character’s finishing move in the middle of the city—and you presumed, if he was as high ranking a demon as you thought, topple Tokyo faster than Megalizard.

“Actually, you know what? I want to _BE_ Henry!” Leviathan finally cried out.

“You…could definitely cosplay him. I don’t know about the rest,” you offered. It was not quite the same, you knew, but it was about as close as someone could get to being a fictional character.

Your offer made Leviathan scowl. “You don’t think I know that? But I can fantasize about whatever I want!” His voice sounded hoarse, and the demon’s breathing seemed somewhat labored. “Ugh. I guess I’ve talked too much, my throat hurts.” He took a moment, collecting himself with a sigh. “And I didn’t even bring you in here to talk about TSL.”

No, you imagined not; but you would talk about TSL for the next two hundred years if it meant not being eaten. “Look, I’m really sorry,” you started. “I can’t give you any money. I’m literally in pajamas, and all I’ve got is this stupid toothbrush.” You lifted it to show the demon, your fingers white from their grip on its handle. “So I can’t help—”

Leviathan’s nose wrinkled. “Gross! Why would I want a normie’s toothbrush? Ugh, humans.” He rolled his goldfish-colored eyes, clearly irritated. “Look, I don’t think there is any harm in just coming out and saying what you already know is true: Mammon is a complete and utter scumbag. It’s very important that you understand this, so I’m going to say it one more time: Mammon is a hopeless. Worthless. Scumbag. I lent him money, and now I want him to pay me back.”

“Y-yeah,” you offered, unsure if it was appropriate to just remind him you had been present for the whole altercation in the entry hall so you could skip the recount.

“And I wish I could force him to, but despite being a rotten waste of space, Mammon’s _still_ the second oldest,” Leviathan’s eyes flared. “As the third eldest, no matter how hard I try, I don’t stand a chance against him.”

That made you frown thoughtfully; did birth order dictate power levels—like printer ink? Cartridges started at full capacity, but then with each successive print there was less and less ink available to draw from until you finally got those dreaded faded letters.

Or was it about principle and respect? Maybe there were some unspoken laws of demonhood that you simply did not know. Perhaps overthrowing an older sibling and giving them a good thrashing would bring the fury of the whole family down on one’s head, or maybe it was a punishable capital crime. That might have even been believable; human history was ripe with stories of siblings overthrowing one another for crowns, money, titles…maybe the only way to keep a bunch of demons in order was to _have_ no-wiggle-room laws like that.

You had half a mind to interrupt and ask, but as had become somewhat expected, you were given no time to interject. “I bet you’re wondering how Mammon and I first became enemies,” Leviathan sighed.

“Actually, no, I’m more curious ab—”

“It’s a long story, but sure. I’ll go ahead and tell you, human.”

Did you unbuckle yourself from the last rollercoaster? Because suddenly it felt like it was time for round two. Leviathan had _just_ complained about talking too much, right? 

“Once, a long time ago,” Leviathan began as if this was a fairytale to be told before bedtime. “Mammon won a prize in a convenience store promotional campaign.”

Maybe you _should_ have guessed it was going to be a jealousy thing given that Leviathan was the Avatar of Envy, but you were somehow surprised a promotional convenience store campaign was honestly the cause of a seemingly irreparable rift between brothers. It would have been like you fighting with your family until death do you part over a coupon for a Slurpee.

“If you bought something, they let you reach into a box and pull out a piece of paper that told you what you’d won. _Mammon_ got a Seraphina figurine—something I would’ve _died_ to have, by the way—and despite the fact he had no interest in it at all, he refused to give it to me. Why, you ask?”

You had not asked why, but you were pretty sure you could hazard a guess. “Because he’s the Avatar of Greed and that probably means generosity is not his thing?”

“Because I wanted it…that’s it,” Leviathan fumed, ignoring your interjection completely as he began to pace. “That was the only reason. I wanted it, and he said no just to torment me! I mean, how awful is that?!” He huffed. Leviathan wheeled, turning back to you. “So I got to thinking Mammon’s going to end up treating Seraphina like some random piece of junk! I might’ve been able to handle it if he left her in her original packaging, but if he took her out of the box?! Dust would get on her! _Dust!_ ”

“T-that’s true,” you offered in agreement. “But you can dust to keep her—”

“I decided I had to save Seraphina. So I snuck into Mammon’s room at night and what do you think I saw there?”

You actually did not answer at first, thinking he was just going to barrel forward like some kind of unstoppable train, but his livid, burning gaze was actually eagerly waiting for your engagement. “Was she out of the box?” You prompted somewhat hesitantly.

The purple-haired demon snorted. “Oh, no! It was _worse_ than that. She was still in the convenience store bag! Smothered in plastic! On the _floor_! You know what should never happen to the Queen of High Elves?! Death by suffocation from a convenience store bag on the floor! Sure, she seems cold and prideful at first, but once you get her alone you find out that she really wants affection, she just doesn’t know how to admit it, and it’s soooo cute!”

You were thoroughly confused by now; your dream had been getting weirder and weirder: school, demons, sibling disputes over Blu-ray preorders that led to you being left as some kind of sacrifice to a powerful demon otaku. Now you were even _more_ confused because you honestly had no idea who Seraphina was and you were afraid admitting so would get you eaten faster, and you _still_ did not know why, exactly, Leviathan had dragged you into his room in the first place.

“But noooo,” Leviathan growled, the air beginning to drip with that tension that made it hard to breathe. He was really worked up. “She was on the floor like junk! Mammon hadn’t even cleaned in _months_. Used tissues, empty ramen cups, dirty clothes, empty demonus bottles—it was so awful, I flew into a rage! I walked straight over to Mammon who was asleep in bed at the time, and then I raised my leg up into the air…” Leviathan was demonstrating his form for you now, and you were no martial arts expert, but for claiming to be a shut-in, his lines looked clean and correct. “…And I slammed my heel down on his stomach as hard as I could. But the next thing I knew, _Mammon wasn’t in bed anymore_! He moved so fast I didn’t even see him! He grabbed me, picked me up, slammed me headfirst into the floor in a pile driver, and all I had time to think before I lost consciousness was, _‘Why does he have to sleep naked?’_ I mean he could at _least_ put on some underwear, right?!”

…Maybe this _was_ hell.

“I…really didn’t need to know that part,” you admitted quietly, grimacing. 

The demon’s breaths were coming shallow and quick, that reddish tinge that had begun to sweep his neck downstairs returning in brighter fervor; the air was almost dancing, being licked by the invisible flames of his fury. Even recounting Seraphina’s plight seemed to be too much for him. “He’s just so _damn fast_! Nobody aside from Lucifer or Beel has that sort of speed.”

Beel? As in…Beelzebub? As in the Avatar of Gluttony you had seen in the student council hall? 

_That giant was just as fast as Mammon?_ Maybe you had dodged an extra bullet not making a run for it straight from the council after all. A shudder clawed its way down your spine as you imagined how awful it would be to be eaten alive by a demonic tank that was faster than a jet.

“But a _human_ ,” Leviathan pressed, wheeling back to you as his eager eyes flashed greedily. “If, say, a human made a pact with that scumbag, and bound him to their service, then he’d have to do whatever that human told him to.”

“A pact?” You parroted in horror. You had seen enough _My Brother and I Took Over the Family Business, But the Family Business is Saving People and Hunting (Supernatural) Things_ to know that pacts were like business deals; you traded your soul for something you wanted, like wealth or fame, but in the end it was never worth it. You burned in fires eternally, dragged to death screaming by hellhounds, and all that money, all that talent, all that worldly pleasure? It would not mean anything anymore.

Levaiathan nodded, the purple fringe of his bangs bouncing excitedly. “Yeah, you make a pact with Mammon, order him to give me back my money, and he won’t be able to refuse! Perfect, it is!”

Did he just talk like the old green frog alien from Space Feuds? Maybe it really _was_ the most popular sci-fi in history, then.

The demon certainly seemed to be glowing, perhaps already imagining the endgame, where he had his Blu-ray preorder bonus, and your soul was roasting in some fiery pit somewhere. “I don’t want to trade my soul for a single favor!” You piped in surprise.

Leviathan’s mirthful, indulgent daydream dissipated from his face and he turned to you with a quizzical frown. “You’ve seen too many movies that get it wrong,” he scoffed knowingly. “It’s not a single favor—the demon becomes your servant, essentially! You can summon them, tell them to do whatever you want— _like return my money_ ,” he stressed, leaning in as if to be sure he was driving the point home.

“But my soul—?” You started.

Leviathan sighed, perhaps aggravated. “It doesn’t _have_ to be your soul, you know. It just has to be something a demon really, _really_ wants, so most of the time it’s inevitable. But, if you want to keep your soul, you’re in luck! I can tell you just what we need to find to hook Mammon.” He smiled at you, that quasi-malicious, entirely maniacal gleam back in his golden eyes. “It benefits you, too. Think about it. Mammon would be at your beck and call. You’re here for a year, right? You’re one of the exchange students? He might be scum, but Mammon’s still a really powerful demon. Get a pact with him, and he will never be able to run off and leave you as a sacrifice again.”

Wait, if Mammon was _that_ powerful, why did he need to use you as a sacrifice anyway? He could just fight his way out, right?

Whatever, you were done trying to make sense of this; it was a dream, and in a few hours your alarm would go off and you would waltz into your office building with this fiasco as barely more than a faded memory. “You know what? Sure. Why not? How would I go about making a pact?”

“You’re on board? _Excellent_ ,” Leviathan preened. “You know, for being a human, you show some promise.”

“Thanks,” you offered dryly.

“Though, if I’m being honest, I don’t care what _you_ think,” the demon finished. “The important part is I have a plan, a plan which I will explain to you now. So shut up and listen!”

Those were rather bold words from a dream demon who needed you to willingly participate in his schemes.

Though, maybe torture had been on the table and you had never even realized it.

“Nobody can waltz up to a demon and demand a pact without offering something in return. Mammon’s no different there. So, you’re going to offer him something he wants so bad he’d do ANYTHING to get it.”

 _Please_ , you found yourself praying. _Just don’t let it be any part of **me**_.

* * *

A credit card.

A piece of plastic of debt, and Mammon was supposed to be like putty in your ridiculous human hands.

But it was not just _any_ credit card, it was the one that _Lucifer had taken from from him_. You had listened to Leviathan ramble about how much Mammon loved this thing—apparently he slept with it, called it “his one true love” and probably gave it a name, which you admitted was strange—but all you could _really_ think about was how this task was absolutely impossible.

Tricking Lucifer was probably like signing up for one on one lessons in dismemberment. Still, that had been the Avatar of Envy’s foolproof plan.

 _“So listen up,”_ Leviathan had said to you after he had explained the object of Mammon’s greatest desire, _“I want you to talk to Lucifer and find out where he’s hidden it. But he can’t suspect anything, so you’ve got to be subtle, like it happened to come up naturally. Make sure you do a good job, or else!”_ With his threat laid, you had been shoved unceremoniously back out into the hall, and the slam of Leviathan’s door behind you let you know in no uncertain terms that you were not welcome to come back until you had done your task.

As if Leviathan had not just asked you to approach the scariest demon you had dreamed up so far to fish for information to help _him_ get a preorder bonus.

For a moment you were frozen in place, eyes casting about the empty hallway as if waiting for the next monster to make itself known. You could hear some repetitive music begin to filter through the door behind you, and coupled with some stylized sound effects it immediately registered as a video game. You were surprised by how angry you were at the realization.

The hot blaze of frustration at being passed around like some kind of hot potato warmed your face and eyes, and it was enough to make you pick up a stride back toward the stairwell you had climbed earlier. You doubted Mammon was back—and on top of that he had told you directly to ask his brother for anything you needed when he had disappeared, so you doubted it was even worth sending a message on your D.D.D. to see if he could just tell you where your room was.

And despite the way Mammon had pushed you aside, you certainly did not want to go talk to Leviathan again to see if _he_ would show you instead. The Avatar of Envy had made it clear what he thought about humans, too, and was certainly not going to be pleased at further interruptions. Still, the thought of standing alone in the foyer until something else found you was making your skin crawl. All you wanted to do was force yourself to wake up by going to sleep here.

Was that _really_ so much to ask?

You were back on the grey carpet of the entry hall now, the plush rug a welcome cradle to your throbbing feet. The dollhouse was still there, the walls still doing their waxing and waning in cursed fashion. Leviathan’s miniature you had seen earlier when you had first entered the House of Lamentation was now back up on the second floor, settled in the middle of his room. Yours was there by the front door again, a lone figure against a nightmare house that appeared otherwise empty.

Creepy.

You pried your attention away, eyeing the door for a moment in consideration. Was it worth it to try and see if you could leave and will your dream to change? Some people, you had been told, could manifest control over their subconscious like that. Not that you had ever done it before, but it seemed like it was as good a time to try as any!

Still, you thought better of it, the moment Leviathan’s voice bubbled up in your memory, warning you that Mammon, Lucifer, and Beelzebub were ridiculously fast; the chance of escape was…unlikely. You turned back, eyeing the stairs and the hall that snaked between them once more.

“I just want _someone_ to show me where the nearest bed is!” You half grunted, half whimpered; your chest felt hot with pressure, and you forced the desperation you were beginning to feel to manifest in a huff rather than the sob it wanted to be.

“If you are that lost, might I assume Mammon failed to help you settle?” A deep, rich voice inquired from behind you.

You wheeled, a wild gasp on your lips as you stumbled backward. Lucifer stood in front of the door, a cold smirk on his lips that seemed to be a tempering mask for the frothing blaze you could see in his eyes. You had not even heard the door open. “L-lucifer?!” Your heart was pressing in on your throat, your clear disarray bringing a glint of amusement to the black-haired demon. 

“Did I startle you? I’m sorry,” he hummed, taking a step from the door toward you. Though, judging by his expression, you were fairly certain he was not sorry in the slightest. “Your room is next to the kitchen. Please, follow me,” he motioned with a sweep of his arm through the passageway that ran through the stairs toward the first floor, and with easy but powerful strides, the Avatar of Pride began to move beyond you.

Maybe this was a trap, but you were pretty sure this would be the only shot you had at finding a place to force a jumpstart for your burdened brain, so you mumbled a, ‘thank you, sir’, and began to follow.

“To the left you will find the library and the music room,” Lucifer hummed, though he turned right. “This way is the dining hall, and the kitchen. Your room is the last door on the left, and it connects to a private bathroom. I took the liberty of providing you with fresh towels and procuring your class schedule and supplies, so feel free to wash up and familiarize yourself with your areas of study before dinner.”

The sound of his heels along the hall were steadier than your heartbeat as he finally halted, hand on the golden knob of your new room. His garnet eyes fell upon you, that distance you had read on him back in the audience chamber once more at the forefront of your observation.

“Tomorrow I will need to bring you to town to get your uniform for class as well as any things you may require for the duration of your stay. Mammon will find himself there to assist.” With a flick of his wrist, and a push of the door, you were given cordial and gentlemanly permission to enter despite the somewhat threatening words Lucifer had spoken about his brother. “Dinner will be served at seven. Mammon will be by to collect you a little before then.”

“Um, no need,” you answered hesitantly. “I had dinner a few hours ago.”

“Ah, yes; there is a bit of a time difference between the realms. Well, should you be hungry, you know where the kitchen is. Do be careful, however. Beelzebub might as well count the fridge as part of his room.” Lucifer’s eyes glinted as he smiled, and you shuddered, dropping your attention away.

“R-right. Um. Goodnight, then,” you mumbled.

You darted inside as if the warm room was a safe space, immediately closing and locking the door to bar Lucifer and any others from passing in without your knowledge. Your eyes honed in on the bed like a hound at hunt, and you near ran to fling yourself into the covers and pillows, ignoring the details of the room around you.

It did not matter.

You just needed to fall asleep, so you could wake up in your own bed. Or on the floor in the bathroom. Or the hospital, if you had hit your head hard enough. Everything, you were certain, would be fixed come the morning. Or, so you thought as your eyes drifted shut, and the world melded into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Can you pull in Leviathan with a fishhook or tie down its tongue with a rope?" is from Job 41 in the Bible. 
> 
> But the answer is....
> 
> No. No you can't tie his tongue down, this boy wants to talk. Hahahaha.
> 
> So anyway, here is chapter three! I really should work on chapter four of my other fic, but this one happened first. Whoops. 
> 
> Next chapter will be the first wee divergence from the game as I flesh out the world building aspect, though fear not, they will align once more soon. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3


	4. Going to Hell on a Full Scholarship

The gentle clink of silverware provided an easy underscore to the morning meal and coffee, but it was the clamor of voices and wild gestures that provided the full soundtrack.

“Oi, Beel, that was _my_ omelet!” Mammon cried, leaping to his feet to try and reach for the retreating reddish folded egg, glaring daggers at the redhead. “Ya made your own mountain of things, eat from _that_ why don’t ya?!”

“But it looks so delicious,” Beel answered simply, plopping the omelet down upon his empty plate.

Mammon grunted, lurching forward to try and snatch it back, but his speed was matched by his younger brother’s and the dish was lifted out of reach. “Yeah, that’s ’cuz it _is_! I slathered it in hellfire sauce—oi! Beel! Dammit.” Mammon growled, pounding a fist into the table as he watched his food disappear in only two bites. “You’re a bottomless pit, ya know that? Unbelievable—swiping food off everyone’s plates.”

Lucifer glanced up from the newspaper he held in his gloved hand, his sharp eye taking in the commotion as he nursed his black coffee. “If you don’t want Beelzebub to get your food, maybe you should focus more on eating and less on Devilgram when you’re at the table.”

Mammon slumped into his seat, but reached for one of the burnberry muffins before Beel could lay claim to that also. “What I’d _like_ to be doin’ is focusin’ on the back of my eyelids! It’s the weekend, why do I gotta get up this early anyway?”

“I already told you. You will be accompanying me to get (Y/N) their uniform and other necessities,” Lucifer drawled in answer, already sinking back into the article he had been picking through as he lowered his cup. 

“You sayin’ you can’t handle a single human on your own, Lucifer?” Mammon puffed, a few crumbs falling from his lips that he eagerly wiped with his sleeve. “My time ain’t cheap, ya know!”

“What I’m _saying_ , Mammon,” Lucifer purred, lowering the paper with a pointed crinkle, garnet eyes boring like drills into Mammon’s face. “Is that while I can absolutely handle a solitary human on my own, _you_ would not be able to handle the time _we_ would be having alone later if you happened to shirk your duties in tending to the human again so soon.” 

The flinch that wracked through Mammon’s shoulders was enough to make the burnberry muffin snake down the wrong tube as he swallowed, and he coughed, pounding his chest with his fist to rid himself of the ticklish, dry sensation.

“Speaking of our little guest,” Satan hummed, lifting his blood-orange juice into hand. “I haven’t seen them since they appeared in the council chamber.”

“For someone with no magic, a summoning is likely exhausting,” Lucifer hummed.

“They’ll wake up when they’re hungry,” Beelzebub observed.

“Yes,” Lucifer agreed, an amused smile curling at his lips as he lifted his paper once more. “Let’s hope there’s food left for them.”

“Why’d you wake _me_ up if ya ain’t even gonna make the _human_ get up?” Mammon whined in discontent. “I can’t do nothin’ for ’em if they’re—”

A shrill scream ripped through the demons’ conversation, the amorphous sound taking on the form of words halfway through. _“What the hell?!”_

The sudden burst of noise was enough to startle Mammon into silence, though the flinch that ripped through his arm sent his glass of milk tumbling and drew a hissed curse from his lips as the liquid began to spread. The three others at the table, however, merely eyed the direction of your room.“Ah, it appears the human is awake,” Lucifer observed, folding the newspaper to set upon the corner of the table as he rose to his feet.

“You know the saying,” Satan hummed, a bemused smile curling beneath his sparkling eyes. “ _‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear’._ ” 

“Come on, Mammon,” Lucifer said, gripping his brother’s collar and hoisting him to his feet effortlessly. “Since you were concerned before, let me make this perfectly clear: you are now very much _on the clock_.”

* * *

_“What the hell?!”_

It had been the first thing that had sprung from your gaping, horrified mouth when you saw the coffin-shaped bookshelf, not that it was the most unusual feature of the room. Actually, quite the opposite; it was probably one of the most _normal_ things. Your panic had started clawing at you the moment you opened your eyes; instead of finding the white popcorn ceiling of your apartment above you, you found a tangle of tree branches and stone. You had hoped that it had been some kind of storm or accident that had led to your building’s roof being smashed in, but the more you looked around, the more you rubbed your eyes, the clearer it became: _this was not your room_.

Your pulse was buzzing, the quick pace making your head feel like it was spinning even as you scrambled from the strange blush-colored bed sheets and backed yourself up against the wall. Your legs were not quite at their peak for performance, and as they wobbled like a newborn fawn, you began to sink, the cold, grey stone pressing against you from behind scratching at your back with enough prick that you knew this was real.

 _No_ , you told yourself. _It was just a dream._

You could hear footsteps coming up the hallway, and a voice trying to negotiate payment for time spent at work.

 _This doesn’t make sense_ , you tried to reason.

Still, the sounds drifting in from the hall beyond the door, the foreignness of this place, the feel of the stone and warm air around you, and the quickly surfacing memories from the night before were making each iteration of that thought harder and harder to compute.

And then you were no longer alone.

The rap on your door was both commanding and intrusive, the three short knocks drawing your attention. “(Y/N),” a voice, one you were certain you had heard the night previous, drawled. “We’re coming in.” The sound you made in response was almost not human. Though, if your recall of the night before was correct, and the people waiting outside were demons, it was possible that the warped, frantic whimper-gasp made of fear sounded very much human to them; after all, they undoubtedly had heard rampant horror before, and often.

Wait.

Did the voice say _‘coming in’_?

Your breaths were coming in gasps, teetering on the very brink of a panic attack as you looked to the door, trying to scramble to your feet to find a way to block off the entry. You had locked it, right? Surely you had. Still, as you heard the sound of something metal sliding into the door and the dull _click_ that followed, you began to realize that it made zero difference to your current predicament. “N-no! Stay out there!” You found yourself trying to declare, though even you could admit the authority you probably needed to convince a demon to listen _really_ was not there. The golden knob began to twist like some kind of harbinger of doom, and time seemed to slow.

What the hell was the point of a lock if they were just going to have a key to get by it?

The door swung open, flooding the dim room your eyes had adjusted to with a wash of gold, stretching the poised shadows of the backlit visitors across your floor. “Not to worry. Only I have a key, and I neither plan on using it or lending it to my brothers.”

Wait, had you said that thing about the key out loud? Of _course_ you had.

“But you just walked in—!” Your protest started to bubble, though it quickly morphed into a squeak.

The man—no, _demon,_ you reminded yourself—took a few strides inside, his dark red eyes peering at you in that same cold and aloof light that you had noted the night previous. While the polished suit was new, the rest of his visage down to his styled, ebon hair was recognizable; it was all at once you recalled just who this was.

“Lucifer! Sir,” you gasped, tacking on a more respectful appellation at the end for good measure. Your knees gave way again, and you sank right back to the carpet.

“Well, we did hear you scream,” Lucifer explained in a hum that almost seemed amused. “We would be remiss as your hosts to not check on you. Humans are rather fragile creatures.”

“What the hell’re ya doin’ in the middle of the floor, huh?” The other, white-haired figure remarked with a frown, coming to stand abreast Lucifer’s broad shoulders to peer down at you. _That_ figure you recalled as well, though instead of a flare of fear like you had felt with Lucifer, you felt a rise of anger. He was the guy who had left you to be eaten! What was his name? Ma-something? Mammon?

“Please,” you blurted, ignoring the second demon’s question and sending your attention back to the eldest. You started trying to scramble to your feet, though your hurried, erratic movements made the motions hard to command. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Oi, I’m talkin’ to ya!” The white-haired demon scowled, though you did not pay him mind.

Lucifer’s arms crossed, and his eyes slid toward you in such a way that it seemed he was looking down at you from over his shapely, perfect nose. “Not supposed to be here?” He parroted back to you in question, the hum of his voice softly waving in amusement. “It seems you do not recall me letting you know that we prepared this room for you.”

That was not what you meant, and after seeing the somewhat cold, sinister twist of his lip, you were fairly certain Lucifer knew that as well. “N-no, sir,” you stammered.

“Oi! Don’t act like I’m not here,” Mammon declared.

“I mean here as in Hell,” you pressed.

“Devildom,” Lucifer corrected.

“I’m sorry, yes, Devildom,” you agreed, as if the Avatar of Pride’s single word had been like a whip. Your heart felt like it was one of those gazelles in a nature documentary; mainly, racing really fast in hopes of escaping certain death.

Beside Lucifer, the scowl beneath that white mop of hair only grew stronger. “Yeah, get it right,” he tacked on. “Hell’s actually above us.”

“Wait, hang on, what?” Your brow pinched as you looked to the second born, mouth opening and closing as if seeking proper words. You had thought that maybe it was more of a cultural thing, like demons trying to rebrand for a more inviting image, but apparently not. So there was a place _lower_ than Hell? It figured that was where you would end up, after trying so hard to be a good person— _wait_. You gasped, what little color you had bleeding from your face at once as you whipped to face Lucifer, a fevered pitch seeping into your tones. “Am I _dead_? Did I hit my head so hard last night I _died_?”

You had heard once that between cats and dogs, dogs were actually more likely to eat their owners’ remains if left alone with a body, presumably because cats had standards; now you wondered if your own furry best friend had already betrayed you since you had the audacity to perish before feeding him breakfast. Your face twisted in disgust at the thought, and you could not stop the shudder the image conjured from running its way through your body.

“What a strange thing to ask,” Lucifer hummed in that jaguar tone, taking a step forward, the click of his heels echoing around you as he paced behind you, examining you, and circling you like a wolf at hunt. “You appear fine to me. Do you _feel_ dead? I would hate for our exchange program to end in such catastrophic failure on the first morning.”

“No, I don’t _feel_ dead, but—” You began to counter, but your thoughts were running so rapid that your train jumped tracks before you had a chance to finish the sentence. “Look, Lucifer, sir, if I’m not dead there’s been a misunderstanding. I didn’t sign up for any exchange program—I’ve never even _been_ in a cult!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Mammon staring at you as if he had never seen a creature so brainless in his life, though his elder brother remained faintly amused by your distress. “I selected you myself,” Lucifer said. “Are you implying that I made a mistake?”

That hot terror that was running wild through your veins suddenly felt like it was doused in ice; the last thing you _really_ wanted to do was accuse the Avatar of Pride of doing something wrong, right? Even in you state of total panic, you knew that would be the same as suicide.

“N-no, sir,” you offered. “B-but someone must’ve put in my application as a joke? I’m sure there are other, more suitable candidates!” Your mind instantly pictured those stereotypical gothic teens that all the television shows and movies liked to showcase amidst heavy metal music and _‘Hail Satan’_ s. Though, maybe he would prefer someone that said _‘Hail Lucifer’_ instead. Even the small time you had spent before the Bench in the hall last night was enough for you to figure that Lucifer and Satan did not _actually_ get along too well.

“You mean, perhaps, someone who _is_ in a cult?” Lucifer questioned, garnet eyes dancing as he fell still once more, barely further than a breath from you. “(Y/N), you have been given the prestigious honor of helping Lord Diavolo accomplish his dreams. We are only asking for one year of your time. It will be the brick that paves the future—humans desire to make differences, don’t they? This is your chance.”

Your legs were starting to wobble again, and you regretted moving yourself away from the wall. Beyond that, though, desperation was welling inside you in the face of Lucifer’s stoic, cool exterior. He seemed to be drinking it in, perhaps reveling in it—you would not have been surprised; since this was not a dream, he _was_ actually a demon. “You don’t understand! If I’m here for a year, I’ll lose everything! My job, my apartment, my car—I have a dog. He _needs_ me, he’ll starve to death!” Your words were coming almost faster than your lips could form them, the breathless, harried way you spoke fingering the borders of frenzy. “I live alone! If my family doesn’t realize I’m gone—”

“If you have concerns regarding your pet I will speak to Lord Diavolo. However, surely you can understand why we cannot tell your family the manner of your absence? Humans are an impressionable, panicky sort. To stir pandemonium among them would set us back. What we need is for you to stay with us, so that you might step into an eventual role of ambassadorship between our worlds.”

“Ambassadorship?” You questioned. “I’m a _desk jockey_. I used to work _retail_! I can’t—”

“Oi, Lucifer,” Mammon grunted, frowning and crossing his arms over his black shirt in more than mild annoyance. “Can we trade the human in to get a quieter model? If it doesn’t wanna be here, then I don’t see the point in draggin’ it all the way to town for any shoppin’.”

“We will not be trading anything in unless you’ll let me trade _you_ in for the same reasons,” Lucifer drawled, though the easy, elegant sweep of his tones were in stark contrast to the brutally frigid look he offered his younger brother. You heard Mammon yelp as he clamped his mouth shut once more.

“ _Shopping_?” You questioned again. For not being a dream, this still felt surreal. “No! Please, just—just send me home!” Your words came out more like a helpless sob than anything, but you were far beyond the ability to feel embarrassed over it.

“My dear (Y/N),” the black-haired demon hummed, turning back to you, that stately smirk back upon his face. “You _are_ home. At least for the next twelve months.”

It was like the wind had blown from your sails, and the fight that you had tried to exude evaporated; instead, a crushing weight replaced it, heavy with tears that were bred of fear. You staggered backward, the side of the mattress meeting the back of your knees as you succumbed to the weight of gravity in your limbs.

“Please don’t look like that,” Lucifer clucked, and though it sounded reserved, it still brought to mind the way a parent might speak to a child who was in the middle of a tantrum. “If you’re lucky, Beelzebub will not have eaten everything on the table yet. Once you eat something, we will get you dressed in something more…presentable…and acquire what you need for your time here. I’ll contact Diavolo to discuss canine arrangements should you think it necessary.”

“…Yes, it’s necessary,” you mumbled, shoulders slumping. You could not tell if it was exhaustion or disappointment in yourself for not continuing the fight to go home that made your words sound so heavy, but either way, both demons seemed content to hear your compliance despite the dreary tone.

“Ya know there ain’t gonna be food left. We left Beel at the damn table for a whole five minutes,” Mammon growled.

“Then we’ll pick up something for them after we get the uniform,” Lucifer declared, turning on his heel to head back toward the door. The white-haired demon shadowed him at his heels, merely offering a single glance back your direction. “Do hurry, (Y/N),” Lucifer added, pausing for a moment in the doorway himself to cast a smile to you. “I will not allow you to bring shame to Diavolo. I hope you understand.”

With that he reached for your golden doorknob again, this time pulling the door closed and letting you sit once more encompassed in darkness.

* * *

You did not know where the clothes had come from that were sent to your door a mere minute later, but you assumed they belonged to one of the members of the household. They certainly were not ideal; they gaped and clung in weird places, overall making you feel somewhat like a child wearing their parents’ clothes. Though if you were going to be forced to traipse the streets of the Devildom against your will, it was probably better that you were not doing so in your wrinkled pajamas.

Mammon, as it turned, had been right; by the time you had gathered the courage to leave your room—mostly by recalling you would likely be eaten if you did not emerge in a timely manner—there was nothing left on the table but the bare bones of a large meal, not that you were overly hungry to begin with after the overwhelming shock you had suffered upon waking.

You had been collected by a huffy Avatar of Greed, one that claimed you should feel _‘lucky for havin’ the Great Mammon takin’ ya shoppin’’_ , and you had followed him through the house to meet up with Lucifer at the front door. The eldest’s fingers were tapping the glass of his phone in quick, precise movements, sending some kind of text, you assumed. It was a wonder it worked through the expensive looking leather gloves he was wearing.

“Good,” he hummed, sliding his phone into his pocket and looking to you. “Then we’re ready to go. This way,” he opened the door back into what felt like a moon-bathed evening, though a quick glance to your D.D.D. told you it was only ten in the morning.

You wondered if anyone in the Devildom suffered from Seasonal Affective Disorder, or if during your stay you might turn out to be their first case.

“Since we’ll have bags after our trip, I’ve taken the liberty of hiring a carriage for us,” Lucifer explained as he led you down through the yard on the uneven, winding path toward the iron gate. Your eyes snapped to the street, the black, elegant looking coach parked a few strides from the front of the House of Lamentation waiting just as the demon had promised. In truth, it was relatively unremarkable beyond the prickle of antique nostalgia the visual offered save for one single detail: there were no horses. If Lucifer or Mammon noticed the question in your eyes, neither one acknowledged it. Instead, a gloved hand was reaching to swing the gate open, its master still eloquently addressing you. “You will also be pleased to know that I have already spoken to both Lord Diavolo and Barbatos in regards to your quandary. It would appear a neighbor will hear your dog barking, and report it to your landlord. Your parents will be contacted, and will be on their way to collect him by nightfall, and you will be reported missing as early as tomorrow for the time being.”

He said it so casually, it _almost_ did not make your heart squirm. That hot, writhing discomfort, however, could not be fully quelled. “…I guess that’s as good as it’ll get,” you mumbled, mostly for your own benefit. If magic had brought you down there, you had no means of escape until someone with power took pity on your poor soul and sent you back. “Thank you, sir,” you offered after a moment.

There was a click as Lucifer’s fingers hooked beneath the release for the carriage door, swinging it open and climbing inside. Mammon, too, did not hesitate, though he clicked his tongue in mild annoyance. “You coulda rented a nice car, ya know?”

“And force (Y/N) to forego the novelty of our Catafalque Cabs?” Lucifer asked, sliding his eyes to you, still standing on the curb. “There’s nothing to be wary of,” he assured. “I promise you are quite safe as long as you’re with me.”

“Oi, I’m here, too,” Mammon griped.

“As I said, you are quite safe with me,” Lucifer repeated, motioning with a genteel sweep of his arm to the reddish leather bench beside himself.

Your lungs felt tight, your tears still burning just behind a thin dam, one that was cracking and breaking with every heartbeat. This seemed like a cruel twist on those _‘don’t get in the car with strangers’_ scenarios you had been warned about as a young child, though you doubted the teachers had ever imagined you would be beckoned by Lucifer himself. Despite the fact you had been essentially indoctrinated to say no, this time you knew you could not outright refuse. You moved to follow the Avatar of Pride’s motions, ascending into the cab with limited grace, and only once you were seated did the coach door slam shut all on its own. With a lurch, it began to move.

The breath you drew over your lips and teeth was quick and sharp, and immediately you were straining your eyes to see what, precisely, was making it move. No matter how you looked, however, you could see nothing; there was no roar or whirr beyond the clatter of the wheels trundling over stone to imply there was an engine, nor were there any echoing _clop_ s to make you think there were suddenly horses—even invisible ones.

The two demons in the coach with you watched your face with differing levels of interest; the younger of the two soon dug out their D.D.D. and began to mindlessly scroll, while the eldest leaned casually against the window near his elbow, tilting his head as he smirked in your direction. “It runs on magic,” he explained. “Each Catafalque Cab is made from the wood of a willow matured in a graveyard and harvested at the full moon. Because they’re such ready conduits, it doesn’t take much to work them.”

Despite telling yourself that none of that mattered, you were impressed; your eyes peeled away from the window, the rolling scenery of the dorms you had seen the night before once more coming into view, and looked to Lucifer. “So you have to have your own magic to ride in one?” You inquired.

That scimitar smile stretched upon the demon’s lips. “No,” he hummed. “It can convert life force to energy instead.” He chuckled, watching your jaw drop as your hand started flying for the door handle. “No need to throw yourself from the carriage. This cab has Mammon and I to pull from instead, so you’re quite safe for this ride. However,” he paused, tilting his head somewhat, garnet eyes glinting. “If you tried to take a Catafalque on your own, it would have no choice but to drain you. You are an anomaly here, (Y/N). For that reason, I will not allow you to wander the Devildom on your own.”

This was not the independence you were used to, and it would have been a lie to say it sat well with you. Still, if this was Hell—well, the place _below_ Hell, anyway—then perhaps you could see the need for an escort. This place was like nightmare fuel wrapped in a fantastical coating; if you were not careful, your _‘year’_ would be _far_ shorter than twelve months, and you would never get to go home again. “All right,” you mumbled in answer.

Your eyes returned to the window, gaze watching the world beyond the glass as the cab jostled its way down the street, and the rest of the ride passed in silence.

The dorms eventually bled away, the marks of a true city beginning to crop up in their absence. Restaurants, shops for entertainment and utility, sidewalks full of foot traffic—it touched the border of familiarity, but the strange hair colors, the glimpses of reptilian eyes, and the horns and tails you noted on a few denizens were quick to remind you that this place was nothing like home. You watched in half-wonder from your spot as the Devildom paraded past your window; that was, until a group of demons noticed you from their seat at what looked to be a coffee shop. Feeling their disgust and dislike pooling from them even from where you were, you decided to retreat from sight once more.

It was only a few more minutes before the cab came to a stop. The sign above the door, written in a polished script, read _‘RAD Threads’_ , and you wondered if those of the Devildom knew human slang. Likely they would be disappointed that the posh tailor shop’s name conjured up a ninja mutant reptile vibe instead of the prestigious, classy one they had clearly wanted.

“Come,” Lucifer declared, opening the carriage door to alight. You were quick to scramble after him, though Mammon announced his displeasure immediately that you had done so before him.

“What’s the big idea, cuttin’ me? Ya better remember your place, human,” he declared.

While you were half tempted to counter that letting him go first could lead to you being separated if he decided to run off again, you thought better of it. As much as he had rubbed you the wrong way, you seemed to recall Leviathan implying he was the second strongest demon in the House of Lamentation. It was a bad idea to antagonize someone like _that._ A mumbled half-hearted apology later, you were meeting up with Lucifer under the sign.

The door opened, a shop bell singing out into the store to herald your coming, and immediately a woman with silvery hair and milky skin emerged from the back. “Lord Lucifer,” she greeted, nodding in a suitably reverent way. “I was told to expect you.”

“This is RAD’s new exchange student,” Lucifer drawled, setting a hand between your shoulders and pushing you forward as if in presentation. “Please see them outfitted for class Monday.”

Clinical, appraising eyes shifted from the Avatar of Pride to you, as the perfectly coiffed shopkeeper hummed. “I have a standard uniform ready, though their measurements might look better with something tailored. What budget would you have me work with, my lord?”

“I don’t have any—” You started to protest hurriedly, but Lucifer interrupted.

“(Y/N) has received a full scholarship from Lord Diavolo. Please provide the standard uniform for immediate use, and see that their measurements are taken for something that will be more comfortable.”

That seemed to make the woman pleased, and with a nod and a hissed, _‘as you wish’_ , she turned and sashayed toward what looked to be fitting rooms. You were unsure whether you were supposed to follow, but you turned to face Lucifer instead, a thread of panic holding on your face. “What do you mean I have a scholarship?”

“Does that displease you? You would find the exchange rate from your currency to ours quite…steep,” Lucifer grinned.

“Ya can’t be _that_ dumb, can ya? He’s basically sayin’ ya get a blank check for all the stuff you’re gonna need! We’re gonna have to stop at Majolish, too, so ya have clothes beyond the crap ya showed up in for when ya aren’t at school. Maybe I’ll pick up somethin’ for myself,” Mammon hummed, and for the first time since you had seen him, there was a glimmer of budding joy in his eyes.

“Right this way please,” the seamstress beckoned from her spot by a stately golden curtain, and though you turned to follow her summons as a rote, stiff motion, your mind was engulfed in the single most horrifying realization you had harbored since getting into the carriage: Lucifer, Avatar of Pride and apparent Lord of the Devildom, was going to be buying _your underwear_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Sorry about the small delay in getting this up. Between having to see My Hero Academia: Heroes Rising opening night and general life obligations, it took me a minute to get this polished enough for sharing. 
> 
> Now, I REALLY have to work on my other fic before I do this next chapter--so that's my goal for today! Hahaha. 
> 
> Enjoy! <3 
> 
> PS: MHA: Heroes Rising is AMAZING, do yourself a favor and go see it!


	5. Farmer-Fresh Nightmare

You had never stood for a formal fitting before, though your mind blurred the minutes together in such a knot that you were not even sure you could count yourself as having experienced it now. Was it ten minutes? Thirty? An hour? You could not say for certain; all you knew was that you held your breath whenever the woman—well, _demon_ , you figured—came too close.

Which was a lot, because measuring tapes in the Devildom worked regrettably similar to the ones in the human realm.

When you were finally finished, and the scratching of quill against paper had died away to mark the definitive end to the woman’s note taking, you released a breath you did not even know you were keeping. A bundle of folded fabric made up of the uniform jacket, teal undershirts, and the bottoms you had chosen, were pressed into your hands somewhat impatiently, the woman muttering a quick assurance that these would be _‘good enough for now’_ before pulling open the golden curtain to usher you back out into the main storefront. It looked much the same, what with Lucifer’s handsome yet detached expression almost reading as numb as he shot you that borderline treacherous smile, and with Mammon beside him huffing and grumbling as he tapped away at his D.D.D. However, there was a small pile of things sitting on the checkout counter that you did not recall seeing there before, including what looked to be some kind of war medal.

“I trust it went well, Ariadne?” Lucifer inquired casually.

“Of course. I have everything I need. I can finish a set of alterations by the end of the week,” the white-haired demon answered. Her eyes, too, found the little pile of treasures. “I see you found everything else already.”

You meandered over, setting the folded double-breasted jacket and the rest of your clothes atop the counter as you looked at the items Lucifer—it could not have been Mammon, you decided after seeing the meticulous way they were arranged—had placed there. There were golden cords and tassels, uniform gloves that seemed like less expensive versions of the ones Lucifer wore himself, and a few ties of identical color and style; it was clear these were adornments for the uniform, and you fished through your memory of the council chamber yesterday to try and recall just where these were meant to go. The medallion, though, caught your eye as the most interesting piece there, and it caused you to abandon your recall for now. The piece was golden metal, shaped like a hexagon with what looked to be a star engraved or cast in the center. A splash of red color marked the midpoint, the bold-font _‘RAD’_ written on it easy to make out in contrast. You wondered if it served as student identification on some level, like a school ID, though there did not appear to be any unique marks upon it to differentiate yours from any other.

So was it just bling?

Maybe demons were just the definition of extra.

“I believe the last things we need are shoes and socks,” Lucifer hummed, parting you from your thoughts.

“Of course,” Ariadne answered, and she motioned with a sweep of her arm toward the shoes along the wall. “Please select which style you prefer—I’ll measure your foot in just a moment.”

“Y-yeah, all right. Thank you,” you found yourself answering. You had not expected the choices to be so varied, though it seemed RAD encouraged aesthetic alongside their regulations. You had an inkling it was because there were various uniform bottoms to choose from, though a part of you wondered if certain shoes worked better for different demon types. You had not really seen any cloven hooves yet, but surely that was a stereotype for a reason?

You selected something simple, understated, and comfortable, your mind too worked up given the events of the past sixteen or so hours to really devote much energy into looks. Honestly, you just wanted to be home, but your plan of a quick escape was almost thwarted by your foot size.

“Humans have such strange feet,” the demon, Ariadne, muttered to herself, measuring you a second time as if to be sure she had done it correctly. Was it because she thought your foot too big for your overall size? Too small? Too fleshy? You were not sure what most demons _thought_ mortal feet looked like, but of all the demons you had met os far, you had not really ventured to think theirs would look any different from yours.

Not that you had painstakingly considered Lucifer’s feet, though.

It was a relief when the woman disappeared into the back and returned with a box. “I only have one of the proper size in stock, my lord,” she explained to Lucifer as she set it alongside the rest of the things that had been accumulated. Actually, now that you were thinking about it, had Ariadne spoken to you at all? “Would you like me to place an order for a backup pair?”

“Please do,” the black-haired demon answered. “Thank you.”

You were fairly certain the shopkeeper’s milky cheeks flushed a pale pink when Lucifer smiled at her. Not that you could really blame her; possibly the equivalent back home would have been getting attention from some gorgeous celebrity, and you had seen people fawn for less. Still, Ariadne maintained that rigid decorum that suited the RAD Threads motif, and with skilled, nimble fingers she began to work with the sleek register.

You watched as your things were totaled, eyes widening as the numbers ticked higher with each passing piece. Lucifer did not seem surprised or concerned by the climbing total, and neither did Mammon for that matter. Still, you found yourself not so calm, and you could not help wondering if RAD was the only school option for demons, or if there was a lower-class equivalent for people who could not harvest kidneys to make a quick buck to get a school uniform.

Grimm.

Whatever.

The transaction was completed with little affair about it; payment was exchanged, and after a quick reconfirmation of when your tailored uniform and second pair of shoes would be available to pick up, Lucifer lifted the bag into hand before you were able to do so yourself. His suave tone sounded once more as he bid Ariadne a farewell, and he took a few steps back toward the door.

“I can get it, sir,” you nearly mumbled, extending a hand. “It’s the least I can do since you paid.”

His eyes gleamed, though he stilled in his retreat long enough to extend the bag to you. You took it, carefully trying to balance the swiftness of your motions with your desire to not even so much as brush his fancy leather gloves. It was mostly successful, though perhaps a bit awkward in movement. You tried to play it off, shifting for the door yourself as if nothing strange had happened. Maybe you were successful; though it was hard to say when seemingly all of Lucifer’s expressions danced in dark amusement. “I forgot how quaint some humans can be,” he mused aloud.

You felt the urge to ask what he meant by that, though before your words could come, the checkpoint between your brain and tongue convinced you it was likely wiser to simply let it go. It was going to be an insult, after all. ' _Quaint'_ was likely not a compliment if it came from the lips of the Avatar of Pride himself.

Mammon scoffed, though. “Quaint ain’t the word _I’d_ use,” he offered, already speeding toward the front door once more. “More like stupid. Some humans are smart enough to realize that lookin’ out for yourself is the only way to live, but the rest sure ain’t. Like you. Nobody’s gonna be able to help ya, ya know. The sooner ya learn that, the sooner ya can start lookin’ after yourself.”

Spoken like a true demon, you figured. You shrugged, pressing on for the door without so much as giving Mammon a glance. “Helping others isn’t a down payment,” you murmured without thinking. The moment it occurred to you that you had said it aloud, however, you felt your cheeks grow warm and heart rate tick higher. The last thing you wanted to do was antagonize demons. “…Nevermind.”

“Pfft. Now ya sound like a damn angel,” Mammon declared, rolling his eyes. He made it a point to push past you, whipping around you like those crazy, weaving drivers on the interstate, before swinging open the door to RAD Threads and melding back into the crowds passing down the street. You followed shortly after, feeling the burn of Lucifer’s gaze upon your back as you went. Mammon was quick to pop open the cab to the Catafalque, turning to sigh back at you. “C’mon, hurry it up.”

It took you a moment to realize he was talking to you.

Your eyes narrowed. “Wait, don’t…?” ‘ _You want to get in first?’_ Was the unspoken finish, though your voice had petered out before you could give your question life. It was not like the Avatar of Greed had been subtle about his ego since the minute you had met him; after all, he called himself _‘THE Mammon’_ like the first word would show up on his birth certificate too.

Mammon rolled his eyes so hard, you wondered if he could see the back of his skull for a minute there. “We ain’t leavin’ yet. We’ve still gotta go to Majolish.”

“And,” Lucifer interjected, “it’s been quite a while since you’ve eaten, and I’m sure you’re hungry. There’s a little café nearby. Perhaps a little, well, _taste_ of the Devildom is in order to welcome you.” With a sweep forward, he plucked the bag from your immobilized hand. You wondered if the way his gloved hands brushed by your fingers had been on purpose in response to the way you had tried to avoid his earlier in the store. It seemed likely, what with the way he watched you like a hawk, marking the faint jolt of your body as you sought to recoil away before he turned and strode by you to set the items in the Catafalque himself.

“Are you payin’?” Mammon inquired immediately, suddenly alert like a puppy whose master had returned.

“Well I can’t expect you to,” Lucifer answered coolly, shutting the door to the rented carriage with what you thought was a little more force than necessary; the black Catafalque Cab rocked on its wheels.

Maybe you, too, should have been concerned about who was paying for the meal; after all, your wallet was a realm away. Though, even if you _could_ access it, you would have been powerless here regardless, unless there was a bank somewhere nearby that could handle currency conversions. Still, unlike Mammon, your thoughts were occupied with a different concern. “Should we really leave that stuff in the cab?” You inquired hesitantly. People had _watched_ you load up a bag full of stuff in an unmanned vehicle, and somehow you doubted the Devildom had a lower crime rate than where you lived.

Lucifer chuckled, the sound less mirthful than it was condescending. “Do you think all demons are thieves, (Y/N)?” He asked. 

Your lips pressed together, the sharp intake of your breath the only sounded reply at first. “N-no, sir,” you answered after a moment. Still, there was little difference between thinking _all_ demons _were_ thieves and _some_ demons _could be_ thieves when it came to your hesitation at leaving a bag of expensive things sitting alone in a magic willow buggy that did not appear to have a lock. “I just…don’t usually leave anything valuable sitting around.”

“Hmm,” Lucifer hummed, peering down at you with that devilish smirk. “A good habit to have, since you’ll be sharing a house with Mammon for a year.”

“Oi!” His brother scowled.

Well, maybe you should have seen the Avatar of Greed having sticky fingers coming from a mile away, but in your defense it had been a hell of culture shock so far. Your eyes slid to mark Mammon a moment, though the muted glare seemed far more disappointed than anything else. The white-haired demon huffed and crossed his arms, as if in indifference, but you had an inkling the comment had bothered him a little. Maybe it was because you would be harder to steal from now that you knew to expect it. 

“Though, I assure you,” Lucifer pressed, a hand coming to elegantly rest upon his chest, almost making you think of a promise or vow. “Your belongings are very much safe in the carriage. The Catafalque, since it was rented by me, can only be opened by those of my party until I release its services. There are ways, of course, to _break in_ ,” he paused, and for a moment the light of his eyes was predatory. “However, there are few who would be foolish enough to risk stealing from me.”

You felt a tingle crawl down your arms and you swallowed uncomfortably. “Oh, okay, then,” you answered as if you had not just imagined a scenario from some kind of devil-mob movie. The Catafalque Cab essentially had a bumper sticker on it: _Insured by Lucifer. You hit **it** , he hits **you**._

“Let’s not waste more time,” Lucifer drawled, motioning with a sweep of his arm down the street. “Tooth and Claw Bistro isn’t far.” And with that, you were trailing along behind the demons once more, as if tethered to their shadows.

It did not take long before you had found what looked to be a popular corner café; warm lights blazed inside, the bright, reddish roof tiles glimmering in the dull, silvery sheen of the Devildom’s moon as if reflective of the limited light around. The tables on the patio were full, the chatter and clink of silverware melding into the general din of the road traffic, and inside you could see an equal number of patrons following the same set of motions. “It’s so busy,” you marveled quietly.

“This place always has a wait,” Mammon declared. “But lucky for us, we’ve got Lucifer.”

Lucifer had not really struck you as the type to rest on the laurels of his apparent title; maybe it was the suit he wore that had convinced you of that, because you could easily see him falling into a workaholic category, and his aloof, calculated personality brought to mind business tycoons or CEOs. Still, as he strode up to the host behind the table, that confident and handsome gleam was almost all anyone would be able to see, and you began to reconsider your assessment— _maybe_ you should have considered his standing as the Avatar of Pride before completely writing off a name drop being used to get a seat.

Though, it appeared he did not even have to name drop.

“Lord Lucifer! Welcome,” the host greeted enthusiastically. The line of demons waiting to be seated looked up from their D.D.D.s at once, stealing glances at the suited devil’s polished, statuesque appearance themselves. “Will you be joining us today?”

Lucifer smiled in response, nodding in a gentlemanly flourish. “I have the newest exchange student with me,” he purred, glancing to you. The host’s eyes followed with surprised curiosity, studying you from head to hem as you shifted uncomfortably under the attention. “They’ve not yet sampled anything from the Devildom, and I cannot think of a better place to bring them for their first brush with infernal cuisine.”

You had to hand it to him—Lucifer was as smooth as silk.

“Oi, I’m here, too,” Mammon declared, glaring at his brother over his yellow sunglasses. “Ya ain’t gonna make me sit out here, are ya?”

You flicked your eyes to him, narrowing them faintly. Whatever gift Lucifer had in silver tongues had clearly never made it to Mammon. _He_ was about as smooth as sandpaper.

Also, _why_ did he have sunglasses when there was not even a _sun_?

“That is tempting,” Lucifer replied.

The host looked between the two demons as if watching a super-sonic tennis match pass between them. Despite the fact that the demons did not feel _dangerous_ —at least, not more than normal—you could once more make out that distinct viscosity in the air that seemed to spread like a herald of a demon’s anger beginning to pool from Lucifer’s person. You gulped, trying to draw enough air as you stepped backward, and it was only a second before Mammon’s tune also seemed to change.

“That ain’t no way to treat your brother!” Mammon half whined, half pleaded.

The air once more righted, and the black-haired demon turned back toward the host as if nothing had occurred. “A table for three, please,” he said evenly.

“Y-yes, my lord! Of course. Right this way.”

A few eyes watched as you and the two demons were lead directly inside, though you did not feel any outright animosity from any of them. Perhaps they feared turning Lucifer’s wrath upon themselves at complaining about special treatment.

The table you were told to sit at was tucked back in the corner and at first glance _almost_ looked normal enough; still the nearer you got the more you began to see. Like the hipster-esque lamp that hanged overhead was actually made up of various types of bone, though whether it was human, demonic, or monster, you could not say. Then there were the standard shakers and condiments pooled in the center. The salt, pepper, and sugar packets—you were pretty sure they were sugar packets, anyway—seemed normal enough. You even could grant a pass for what looked to be an admittedly questionable ketchup equivalent. However, there was a glass shaker that had actual _moving_ black worm-like things inside and a bottle labeled _‘Hot Sauce’_ that was glowing through its plastic. Overall, it seemed the restaurant was quick to remind you this was no place to get comfortable. 

You had never been so hesitant to take a menu before in your life.

And to say you had never seen a menu like this before would have been an understatement, for it somehow made it seem like you were simply a picky eater to dismiss it in such a way. It was closer to think that not even the most adventurous humans who trekked the globe to find strange cuisines would have seen anything like this. Poached basilisk eggs, fried locusts and waffles, roasted Quetzalcoatl with sinnamon apples, redlava cake—there was not a single thing you recognized. The more you read and the closer you looked at the photos beside the write-ups, the less hungry you felt.

“Um, Lucifer, sir?” You asked, schooling your voice to sound less disgusted and more curious; how well you did, though, you could not say. “Have humans ever eaten here before?” You were not sure you could outright declare these foods were unappetizing; after all human cooks grew defensive of their foods, so you could hardly imagine what one from the Devildom would be like. Still, beyond the overall lack of appeal, there was another concern. Some threats were obvious—like the redlava cake with its _actual magma core—_ but that did not mean that all of the other non-obvious items were going to be completely safe for a mortal, either.

“Solomon has been faring fine, for the most part, and the witches that visit voice no complaints either,” Lucifer answered. ‘ _For the most part’_ was not exactly filling you to the brim with optimism, and it was possible the eldest demon had noted it. “Anything with the skull and crossbones by the name is made with particularly raw, hazardous, or poisonous materials, so I would recommend you stay away from those. Some demons find them too hard to handle.”

You took a look through the menu again, hurriedly doing a quick count of the number of items that had the warning; it totaled up to almost a quarter of it, though you could not help but notice that magma was apparently not considered overly hazardous. If that had no warning at all, you felt a grim weight in your chest and stomach as you considered the possibility that toxic for you, a mortal, might not mean toxic to demons. You _did_ find yourself wondering why the chicken soup under the appetizer part of the menu was flagged, though not enough to ask. Your appetite was already fading enough.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” a waitress greeted, coming to hover by Lucifer and Mammon’s shoulders. Her expression was eager, bouncing between the two brothers; serving the Avatars was apparently some kind of reward. You had _never_ seen a server so excited to be working a table before. Well, that was until she was looking at you. The small lift of her lip was almost imperceptible, and you wondered if it was disgust or hatred that had made it flash across her face. You tried to smile a greeting, the awkwardness of the motion making you swallow your attempt quickly. “What can I get you, my lords?” The waitress offered in question instead, eyes skipping away from you as if you were not there at all.

“For starters I’ll take the Bloody Mary, with that hellhog bacon strip,” Mammon grinned, his tone brightening. You had not heard him sound anything other than displeased since you had met him the night before, and you were somewhat shocked to hear his personality suddenly shift from _‘raging hormonal teenager’_ vibes to _‘people person’_. It made you feel like you could develop whiplash if you listened too long. “Then I think I’ll go with the poached basilisk eggs, but if I could swap out the home-fire fries with the wyrmling sausages. Oh! Actually, do ya have any of those fresh-farmer—”

Lucifer shot his garnet eyes up to steal the waitress’ attention, “He will have the wyrmling sausages.”

“That ain’t fair—ya said we could order—” Mammon scowled to his elder brother, though Lucifer merely looked at you.

“I doubt our guest would appreciate you having fresh-farmer anything,” he drawled. “Or do you want the black-belly newt instead?”

Could eyes fall out of your face if they widened too far? Well, if they could, you had to be reaching that limit now. “Fresh- _farmer_?” You gasped.

The waitress looked to you for a moment, that look of disgust or something similar gracing her comely features once more. “I’ll have you know they are organically and sustainably sourced, and _both_ parties were in agreement before the contract was signed.”

It felt like your synapses were firing electricity, but nothing was receiving it, like a computer whose wires had been chewed through. Lucifer lifted a hand, his garnet eyes marking you and your human equivalent of the blue screen of death as you struggled to process your thoughts. “That’s quite enough," he said to the server. "(Y/N) is still quite fresh to our ways, so much of this is a surprise. Now, I’ll go ahead and take a Bloody Mary as well, though extra blood and no hellhog bacon, with the eggs anathema. No substitutions.”

The seamless way the black-haired demon slipped from gentle chastisement to a food order was astounding, and the waitress was busy scribbling it down in eagerness. “Would you like extra griffon-yolk sauce?” she inquired.

“That sounds fine,” Lucifer dismissed, setting his menu down.

And that left you, sitting aghast as three pairs of eyes looked at you in varying states of patience. “U-um,” you stammered, eyes dropping back to eye the menu. You had not really found something that seemed human-approved. “Can I get the…waffles? But instead of the fried locusts, the apples with sinnamon glaze?”

“…Sure,” she said dryly before smiling back to your company, pleasant personality reemerging. “I’ll get the order in right away, and it’ll be out soon!” And with that, she was gone.

Did you run the same risks of food tampering as back home if you managed to get on a waiter’s bad side? Because if so, you very well could die here.

You had done your best to not look at the food at other tables, or the strange condiments in the center of your own, or imagine what eggs anathema was; you had thought the most impossible part of staying in the Devildom a year was going to be not being eaten yourself, and perhaps it still was, but the close second contender was going to be not starving to death.

Maybe you could at least request some human foods be shipped in.

Would the import fees be ridiculous? 

You did not have a long time to mull it over, nor indeed to listen intently to the banter that had begun to pass between Lucifer and Mammon, before a tray of food was brought out. Apparently, the waitress had not been kidding when she promised the food would come quickly, and you half wondered if having Lucifer with you had jumped your table to the head of the line with the cooks, too.

You were the last to be served—though that was expected, given the circumstances—and with that large plate of other-worldly, Devildom cuisine now before you, suddenly infernal food was no longer something you had to _imagine_. Now, it was vivid and real.

Well, your dish looked _almost_ human enough. The waffles were golden, and the apples could have been used as the color base for a lipstick called _‘temptation red’_. However, that was where your meal began to diverge from the path of recognition and familiarity. The sinnamon drizzle that coated the apples, that you would have thought was closely related to cinnamon, smelled more…hearty beneath its sugary notes. It was thick, black, and you would have described it as _oozing_ , though you could not tell if it was the pull of gravity on the glaze or if it was very well moving on its own.

Maybe it was better if you did not ask, either.

You saw Mammon eyeing your food from his seat, though you imagined what you had done was likely similar to an adult human cherry picking from the kids’ menu at a fancy Italian place. You swallowed, your brain still trying to convince your stomach it did not need to eat, though you knew it was losing the battle.

“How does it look?” Lucifer hummed to you, picking up his knife and fork as if he were some trained debutant.

“I…think I’ll need a box,” was all you managed in reply before you, too, were tentatively partaking of your first demonic brunch.

* * *

Brunch had been…an experience. The waffles had been pretty good, and the apples definitely that perfect level of ripeness. The sinnamon glaze, though? It was sweet, filling, and _absolutely_ moving on its own in your stomach for a good hour after being ingested. The sensation was worrying, though Lucifer had assured you it was meant to do that. You doubted even hypochondriacs back home would have ever imagined death by living glaze, but now you could say you certainly had. Well, maybe not living, but at least _moving_ glaze. Mammon had scoffed when you asked which one it was, though also failed to answer.

You definitely took a box, though, because your stomach felt so weird, that you could not bring yourself to finish the meal at all. 

Then it had been off to the clothing store.

It had been just about as awkward as you imagined, what with Devildom fashion being unfamiliar to your aesthetics. Not to mention Lucifer following you like a shadow, peering over your shoulder as you tried to find things that looked like they would suit you. The worst part was _probably_ when you were shopping for underwear; comfort did not appear to be a thing demons cared about in that particular department, and knowing the Avatar of Pride was standing _right there_ as you chose the most risqué undergarments you had ever bought in your life was its own level of mortifying.

At least Lucifer’s presence had deterred some other demons from turning you into a snack.

Not that that meant you would ever be able to make eye contact with him again.

Eventually you were finished and loaded up into the Catafalque Cab, much to your own relief. It was weird to think of the House of Lamentation as _home_ , but you were quite ready to lock yourself up in your room for a while. Your mind had been over stimulated from the very moment it had woken up that morning, and you were fairly sure that it had a lot of catch-up processing to do.

When you walked in through the front door, Lucifer and Mammon both were quick to excuse themselves; you imagined that the influx of phone activity on Lucifer’s part while on the ride home was likely tied to his work, though Mammon’s farewell seemed somehow vacant of true purpose. Not that you minded.

Your first stop was your room, dropping off the bags from Majolish and RAD Threads before plucking up the black box from Tooth and Claw; it had been given some kind of preserving magic when you left, but you were unsure how long that lasted. It was smarter, you decided, to get it into the fridge like you would at home. So, with the takeout box in hand, you began to shuffle toward the kitchen.

When you arrived, you found the fridge was already propped open, and the legs you could see sticking out beyond the door made it exceedingly clear someone was _definitely_ rummaging through it. You chewed your bottom lip, rocking your weight from one hip to the other as you weighed the options of returning to your room for now or asking if you could just pop the food inside really quick, though you did not have time to reach an answer.

A tall form emerged like a redheaded mountain, mouth full and chewing as what looked to be a milk carton was plucked from the door. You recalled who this was, too, and you took a small step backward to see if you could slip out unnoticed, but it did not take long before Beelzebub had spied you. “Oh, you’re back,” he observed, a rather innocent surprise lifting his brow.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered awkwardly, nodding for good measure. It was not like you had over much choice in the matter, though. If you could have gone home, you would have preferred that.

Beelzebub’s eyes immediately fell on your to-go container, the demon swallowing pointedly before looking to you. “What’s that?” He inquired, the direct, unreserved question enough to make your heart creep into your throat a little more. You seemed to recall someone mentioning the night previous that they did not trust this particular sibling _not_ to eat you, and the look in his eyes was definitely more _ravenous_ than _hungry_.

“Leftover waffles and sinnamon glazed apples from the café earlier,” you answered. You looked between Beelzebub and the box in your hand before you hesitantly extended it. “Would you like them? It’s kind of sweet, as a warning. And I think the glaze is alive.”

That towering, imposing figure immediately lightened, his eyes gleaming and smile reminiscent of the sun he likely never saw for the dark down here. “Sure. Thanks,” he rumbled pleasantly, reaching and taking it from you. “I knew humans weren’t all bad,” he added as he flipped open the lid and began to munch away without bothering to warm it up. Or grab a plate. Or a fork. The milk carton seemed forgotten for now, too.

“Haha,” you found yourself laughing awkwardly, shrugging meekly. “Glad I could change your mind, I guess.” Though, that smile he had shown was enough to make you wonder if not all demons were bad themselves.

Not that you wanted your old youth minister to hear _that_ particular thought.

“I’m glad you ate something, too,” Beelzebub added as an afterthought. “Humans need food to survive even more than we do, and I know how it feels to be hungry.”

“O-oh,” you stammered. “Yeah, I…guess that’s true. Well, um, I’ll see you around, Beelzebub, sir.”

The redhead paused in his scarfing to wrinkle his nose a bit before looking to you. “Sir? Hm. Just call me Beel—you gave me food, so we’re good.” 

Was that the demonic equivalent of extended friendship? It was at _least_ an olive branch. Maybe the universe wanted to cut you a break after all of these curve balls, though you did not quite trust it enough to assume this meant the Avatar of Gluttony and yourself were thick as thieves now. Still, despite everything, you smiled, and while it was certainly not a broad expression that could light up a room, it was genuine enough to be a glimmer in the dark. “All right then, Beel,” you answered. “I, uh, was just going to drop that off, but since you’re taking care of it...I’ll get out of the way. Enjoy.” He gave you a half-hearted wave, turning his attention back to the leftovers you had given him with a somewhat gleeful expression.

As you began to move back toward your room, you wondered if it would be a good idea to keep snacks in your pockets at all times just in case you ever needed to convince the Avatar of Gluttony to not eat you. If it worked, there was at least one less demon you needed to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still haven't finished the work on chapter four for my other fic, but this one is just SO FUN to write! 
> 
> Next chapter will return a bit to the actual plot of the game, as it will be time for the first day of classes. Hope you're ready to study! =D
> 
> Also, I know there's not a great way to contact me on here if you have any questions or just want to talk Obey Me, so my instagram is @hobbitess. Most of my pictures are rosettes, so if you find me and want to send me a note, I will be happy to chat! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	6. Medieval Weapons and the Avatar of Jump-Scares

The minute the door to your room was locked behind you, and a chair from the long table by the bookshelf pressed against the entry as a secondary measure to combat Lucifer’s key, panic and fear hit you like a wave.

It was hot, burning your gut and eyes as it frothed, churned, and pressed through the spider web of fractures to your spirit. You felt like you were drowning, like you could not grasp enough air; all you wanted was your dog, or to text your friends about mundane drivel. Actually, you would have even taken one of those ridiculous phone-lectures from your family about how you did not call them enough.

Maybe you never _had_ called them enough.

And maybe it was too late for you to regret that, since you now were trapped in some horror show where _human flesh_ was actually on the menu at restaurants.

If any in the House of Lamentation heard your sobs, the deep gasps that wracked your shoulders and ribs, or the small whines you uttered as you pleaded to whatever higher power was paying attention to help you get home, you had no way of knowing. Nor did you care. As the seconds ticked by to minutes, and the minutes crawled on to hours, you devoted yourself to feeling every last thread of worry, of _fear_ that you felt constricting itself around your lungs, until the torrential hurricane you had felt whipping through was finally spent, and in its place was a calm like a crypt.

Eventually your phone buzzed, the D.D.D.’s bright screen ripping through the darkness like a military assault. Languidly, still feeling the profound emptiness from wringing out your emotions, you reached, flipping the screen over.

**Leviathan:** You spent all day with Lucifer, right?

 **Leviathan:** Did you fish for the info we need?

You sighed, rolling over to read and then reread the two texts. Fish for…? _Oh_. In all the hysteria of the day you had forgotten about what Leviathan had asked you to do, and now that you were—unfortunately—very certain this was no longer a dream, your felt even _less_ confident about accepting this idea. You chewed your bottom lip, thumbs hovering over the touchscreen as if it would give your mind time to make up its response. Tricking Lucifer was a tall order, and if the pact worked the way Leviathan said it did, you had doubts getting a credit card back, regardless of whether the Avatar of Greed had slept with it at night or not, would be enough to force Mammon’s arm.

**(Y/N):** I was with Lucifer, but I didn’t have a chance to think about the pact.

It was probably best if you did not let the Avatar of Envy know about your doubts; he was still a powerful demon, and you had seen first hand how tight his temper was sprung when it came to getting his money returned.

You could already see the three flashing dots appearing below your response, and you assumed that meant Leviathan was typing.

**Leviathan:** WHAT? You wasted all that time?!

 **(Y/N):** Mammon was there, anyway.

 **Leviathan:** That shouldn’t have stopped you!

 **Leviathan:** Mammon’s such an idiot he wouldn’t have realized what you were asking!

 **Leviathan:** ROTFLMAOOOOO

 **Leviathan:** Ugh, whatever. Just figure it out soon. I need to get the preorder before the promotion stops.

You sighed, dropping the D.D.D. to sit upon your chest as you looked up at the winding branches and leaves above your bed. In the quiet, the only sound you heard was the quiet murmur of your own voice.

“…I should probably ask when the preorder ends.”

* * *

Dinner came and went, as did breakfast and lunch the next day, Mammon dutifully collecting you from your room with a huff each time. Spurred on by the pointed glares Leviathan had tossed you during two of the meals, you had tried to finagle some time with Lucifer alone. The Avatar of Pride, though, appeared to be a busy demon, and one directly opposed to relaxing on the day of rest. _Now_ you could partially understand why Leviathan had been so cross with you about not capitalizing upon the opportunity you had Saturday; still, you doubted Mammon was _actually_ as stupid as Leviathan claimed. Surely if you had fished for information about a nicknamed credit card, his ego alone would have made sure he was paying attention.

Still, even knowing that Leviathan needed his money by the end of the week—something that had sent a spur of panicked disbelief through you the moment he had said it—the closer it grew to nightfall, the more your mind was troubled by something beyond Mammon’s debt to his brother. It had been quite some time since you had been in school, so the adjustment to studying and lectures _alone_ was going to prove a bit of a bear to navigate. However, after eyeing RAD from your window for a while, you began to wonder just how many demons were currently enrolled. And of that number, how many were going to be willing to eat you without regret?

In theory there was another human out there, and two actual angels; the trick, you supposed, would be surviving long enough to meet them, which was why you had left your room in search of your demon-sitter sometime in the midafternoon.

“Mammon, there you are,” you called, finally spying him. He was hunched, rummaging through drawers in what looked to be the most well-kept, centuries old cabinet you had ever seen. Your approach seemed to startle him, and he yelped, turning around so quickly, he jabbed his hip against the open drawer.

“Dammit, human!” He declared, blue eyes narrowing. “What the hell’re you doin’, sneakin’ up on me like that? And usin’ such a familiar tone! Maybe I oughta let ya get eaten tomorrow, huh? Can’t even show respect.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” you tried to assuage, but that merely made the demon scowl harder.

“Pft. I wasn’t scared! I’m THE Mammon! Avatar of Greed! I don’t _get_ scared,” he countered.

For all his bluster, though, you still did not feel that strange power in the air that would have heralded a true threat from him, and you made your way deeper into the room, eyes casting around the grand furnishings in a mix of wonderment and awe. “Right, sorry,” you dismissed. “What’s this place?” You found yourself inquiring, though as you examined the space you vaguely recalled Lucifer mentioning there was a music room somewhere on this floor that could very well fit the bill. There was a lovely grand piano nestled in the corner, sofas that maybe cost more than you made annually sprinkled around for seating like confetti, and a rug that was reminiscent of those expensive, royal weaves movies loved to use. It splayed over dark wood, and that opened up into an even lovelier room.

It was almost made up entirely of glass windows, a romantic and expensive charm added by the devil-ivy and other plants outside that seemed to thrive in the dark down there. Their green was the brightest blast of color this simple area had, though the strange, gazebo-like shape made the room interesting enough. Overhead, the ceiling looked like it was open, the glass of it was so pure and clear; the stars danced overhead unobstructed, a ribbon of reddish and purple hues weaving through like the Northern Lights you had seen photos of back home.

Okay, maybe the Devildom was the single most terrifying place you had ever ended up, but _man_ , if it was not also the most beautiful. 

“An observatory,” Mammon declared rolling his eyes and returning to shuffling through the drawer. “Man, humans are stupid.”

“Wow. You guys have your own observatory?” You marveled, the jibe that your demon-handler had offered whisking in one ear and out the other. “…Do you have a telescope?” You turned, eyes sparkling.

“Look, if you want to talk stars’n crap, find Satan. He loves that stuff,” the snapped tone came in response.

For a moment you weighed the suggestion carefully, imagining the lithe, blond gentleman as you had seen him. He did not seem _that_ frightening so far, but he _was_ the Avatar of Wrath and somehow you did not think he could have earned that title by being as easy going as he appeared. And, beyond that, Lucifer was right: his smiles really _did not_ seem like they went further than skin deep. Still, you interrupted your own thoughts, narrowing your eyes as you turned suspiciously to study the demon’s hunched form. “So…why are you hanging out in here if you don’t like _‘stars and crap’_?”

“Nothing!” Mammon declared, jerking upright once more. “I ain’t stealin’ nothin’!”

Well, that was…smooth.

You had always figured demons would be better at lying. Still, at least that worked in your favor in this case if you were going to be stuck in literal Hell for a year. “Right, sorry I asked,” you grumbled.

“What’re _you_ doin’ here, then?” Your demon-sitter pressed.

“Looking for you,” you answered with a small shrug. That declaration seemed to take Mammon aback, and his eyes widened slightly as his back went rigid. “What?” You questioned defensively, crossing your arms.

Maybe you could have come outright and said that you felt safest with him since he was not as intimidating as some of the others in the house, or admitted that you were still uneasy living with the literal rulers of the demonic world; however, knowing they were avatars of what were known as the seven _deadly_ sins made you think that claiming one of them felt _‘safe’_ was probably more of an insult than not, so you opted to just get right to the point.

“Actually, class starts up tomorrow,” you pressed. A weekend was not enough time to adjust, really, and you were hardly looking forward to showing up for lectures. Overall, though, it was not just generalized academic anxiety that was clawing at you. “I know Lucifer said that walking around on my own was dangerous, and we don’t have all the same classes…do you have demonic Mace or something?”

“ _Mace_?” The demon parroted, his eyebrows creeping higher until they disappeared under his fluffy, white fringe.

“Yeah, you know, for self defense? In case you aren’t there?”

“Pfft,” the demon shrugged, closing his eyes and crossing his arms as if he were indifferent. “You shoulda asked for that, like, days ago! It’s not exactly easy to come by on a whim.”

“Oh,” you found yourself murmuring, shoulders slumping forward. “I didn’t realize you wouldn’t be able to get it.”

“Hey!” Mammon barked. “Why’re ya lookin’ so depressed, human? I’m in charge of ya, right? So if ya want somethin’ for self defense that’s hard to come by, I can get it. I’m THE Mammon, after all.”

Your face brightened, your eyes lifting once more. “Oh my go—I mean, thank you so much!” You still had not figured out whether it was flat out offensive to just tack the term _‘god’_ onto any exclamation while you were there, but figuring that the stories you knew about Lucifer being thrown down from heaven were at least _partially_ true made you desire to err on the side of caution.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mammon clucked, waving his hand. “Now get lost and leave me be, will ya? I’m busy, here!”

“With pleasure,” you muttered. Still, he _had_ just agreed to get you Mace. You wondered why it was so rare there; maybe because demons did not have a lot of weaknesses? Take out a human’s eyes with pepper spray and there was a good chance you could subvert a situation. If demons could just _keep seeing anyway_ , that would obviously be no help. Maybe the base plant was rare because demons did not want their weaknesses exploited?

You turned and made your way back toward the hallway, ready to make quick steps to your room so you could bunker down for the night until dinner. Maybe _something_ on the table would be edible tonight; getting up from a meal as hungry as you sat down had become a bit of a habit so far, and you knew at least three of the six demons who shared your table had noticed. Lucifer, you were certain, took note of everything that happened in his house, and Mammon sat right beside you, so both of them spying your uneasy eating habits made sense. However, you were more concerned with Beelzebub—Beel had been pleasant enough the handful of times you had run into him in the past two days, mostly on his way to or from the kitchen, and you were worried that if he thought you did not like food, that modicum of safety you thought you had found with him would disappear.

“Just don’t let something crawl off my plate today,” you pleaded to none but yourself and a silent hallway.

* * *

The next morning came sooner than you would have liked, and as you peeled yourself from the covers to the sound of your alarm singing in the darkness, you felt the flutter of anxiety knot in your tummy.

Here it was, your first day of school, and there were not even parents there to snap a photo and coo at you about how it was going to be a great year.

You had never worn a uniform for school in your life, though maybe as a child you had been tempted to think it would be fun. Now, though, staring at yourself in the mirror, looking at this double-breasted black jacket and teal-green undershirt ensemble, you began to wonder if you had been unbearably naïve. Maybe your first hint should have been that it looked good on the guys in the house when you had seen it on them in the assembly hall—and since you were in no way as physically blessed as they were in looks, you never really stood a chance.

“You don’t have to look good,” you told yourself, eyeing the mirror with a perturbed pout of your lip, pointing to your reflection as if begging them to listen to you. “You just have to survive!”

That, it seemed, was going to be your Devildom mantra.

You gathered your things, and exited your room to make for the dining hall, the scent of fresh food filtering down the hallway. You could also hear voices passing between the demons already gathered; they were mostly assertions of dominance in regards to their plates, presumably because Beelzebub was inching in on the things they had grabbed.

There was no way of getting around it; since you were stuck for the time being, you should at least try and be a pleasant house guest. If nothing else, the less they worried about you, the less they were _thinking_ about you—and surely that meant fewer considerations of how good or bad you would taste. You stepped into the dining hall, smiling as best as you could. “Good morning,” you chimed. 

Immediately a pair of sapphire eyes locked in on your person, blazing. “There you are! How dare you keep me waiting,” Mammon declared abruptly. Lucifer was there as well, seated at the crown of the table with his cup of coffee like he had been the day before, Asmodeus, Satan, and Beelzebub too.

“I’m not late,” you protested, making your way to the chair that seemed designated to be yours, the one beside Mammon and across from Beel. You wondered absently if sitting there was more or less risky than sitting _beside_ the Avatar of Gluttony, though shook your head to free yourself from the thought. “I’m not even the last one,” you added. Leviathan seemed to be the hardest demon to get up in the morning; given his otaku lifestyle, you could not say you were entirely surprised.

“No, but this is a pain to carry around, so here.” Mammon huffed, and with a _thunk_ , a large, heavy object was set upon the table, and all of the silverware danced a few inches away.

You blinked, though no matter how many times you did so, the image did not shift. It was a rod, crafted from the blackest metal you had ever seen, a large bulging weight tipped at one side with four metal ridges that ran along its surface like wings.

You had played enough video games in your life to recognize this—in fact, it looked just like one of the demonic weapons from _Older Tomes: Airedge_. But what you could not fathom was, well, _what this was._ Your eyes lifted, flicking to Mammon as he waited impatiently for you to shower him with praise and pay for his services or something, but all you could manage amidst the strange looks the rest of the table was giving you was a hesitant, “…What’s this?”

“You sure are dumb,” Mammon scoffed. “Can’t even recognize a mace when you see one? You _asked_ me for this—last night! You can’t possibly have forgotten!”

You blinked once more.

“And what, pray tell, do you need a mace for?” Lucifer drawled to you.

Your eyes flashed upward to his, the garnet, smoldering look in he bore two steps away from proper anger. Maybe it was in part because that weapon was going to leave a dent on his nice table. Your throat felt dry. “I think there’s been a terrible misunderstanding…”

“Tryin’ to weasel your way outta this ain’t gonna fly, _human_ ,” Mammon growled. “You asked me if we had demonic maces for self defense in case I wasn’t there!”

“I… _did_ ask for Mace for self defense,” you admitted. “But where I’m from…it’s…like a pepper spray? For the eyes. I was thinking you might have a demon equivalent.”

Satan burst out laughing, the gleeful glimmer of his eye like the twinkling stars that were perpetually clinging to the sky outside. “Oh dear. (Y/N), next time, ask literally anyone else for help. Mammon’s too stupid to realize that no humans have actively used maces in daily life for centuries, it seems.”

“Mmm. Peppers,” Beel hummed to none but himself, taking another bite of his food. You could have sworn you heard the fork snap.

“Mammooooon!” Lucifer growled.

The white-haired demon jolted, wheeling nervously to spy his elder brother’s angry face. Your heart skipped a few paces yourself, wondering if maybe you could somehow deescalate the issue. “You know what? It’s fine. Perfect! It, uh, still works on demons, right?” You wrapped your hands around the leather haft, hoisting it up off the table.

 _Man_ this thing was heavy.

And the poor table was definitely…indented.

You tried your best to set it down—gently—beside your chair, sliding into your seat to begin your breakfast. Most of the food looked questionable, but there was a single muffin you had noticed set on your plate, and it seemed safe enough. Your eyes lifted to glance to Mammon, then to Lucifer at the far end of the table, before you peered at each demon in turn. In truth, you could not figure out _who_ had decided to give the muffin to you, but the subtle, secret kindness was enough to send a shot of warmth through your thrumming nerves.

It looked like it could be cranberry, but you knew that was unlikely. _Maybe_ it was better not to know; at least that way, you could have a bit of breakfast before darting off to class. That single, tentative bite you took, however, illuminated your face, and while you did not notice some of the demons watching the little wiggle you did in your seat, they certainly were noticing you and the glimmer of life that returned to your eyes.

“I have to leave early this morning,” Lucifer declared as he stood, eyes flicking to Mammon as he rose. “You will see (Y/N) safely to school, Mammon. Should I hear of any… _incidents_ …it will be your head as payment.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” the white-haired demon answered. You could not tell for certain, but it looked like he was avoiding looking at his brother entirely, hand reaching for a muffin like yours from the basket at the center of the table.

“I’ll check in with you after school, (Y/N). So be sure to note what things about our curriculum stand out to you,” Lucifer added.

“Yes, sir,” you answered. In truth, you already had a few ideas—frankly, if you had not known this demon school business was real, you would have bet your life that the classes on your schedule were a prank. Devildom Law, Ethics of Corruption, Pre-Time History...each one seemed like a joke.

With a smirk, the eldest turned to leave, and the youngest present plucked up the basket of muffins directly.

“Oi! Beel! You can’t have _all_ of those!” Mammon shouted in disbelief.

“But I’m hungry,” Beelzebub answered simply.

Maybe the muffin had been just what you needed, because suddenly you had the energy to find the brothers’ antics somewhat amusing as breakfast passed. 

* * *

Between the books you were carrying to class and the medieval weaponry that you had shoved in the backpack alongside them, you felt somewhat like a turtle heading to class. Mammon kept rolling his eyes, demanding you speed up. Despite your efforts, though, you failed to find a pace the white-haired demon found satisfactory. Still, you were relatively unconcerned for there was plenty of time before class started, and your biggest risk was the growing agitation of The Great Mammon as he continually reminded you how slow humans always were.

Well, at least you imagined that was your biggest risk until you waltzed right through the front door of a giant school of demons.

When you finally passed into RAD’s halls, you wrung your lips together nervously, peering down at the piece of paper in you hands. ‘ _Ethics of Corruption’_ was the first class on your schedule, and the tower and room number beside it might as well have been Morse Code for how well it helped you navigate. “Hey, Mammon? Where’s…?”

“Well, got you to school! Don’t be late! Oh, and don’t get eaten, either,” the Avatar of Greed declared, shuffling off before you even had a chance to register that he was trying to ditch you. Leviathan had not been kidding—that demon could _move_.

And now you were alone.

Surrounded by more demons than you could shake a finger at.

Great.

As your breathing rate sought to climb alongside your heart rate, you considered the weight hanging from your back. At least you had the mace, right?

Re-shouldering your bag as if to make sure it was still there, you took a step forward; perhaps, you mused, you could find someone willing to help you locate this lecture hall. The last thing you wanted to be was late to your first day of Demon High. Demon University? You were not actually sure what the human equivalent was.

Still, as you worked your way forward, finding yourself shouldered and tossed around as the crowds thickened around you, you did not spy anyone that looked like they were approachable. Perhaps given that this was a school of demons, you should not have been surprised, and yet there was a trickle of panic that began to ease in around you at the thought of being there in a sea of predators, lost and ultimately found dead, or being late to class and dealing with Lucifer directly. Of the two scenarios, you were not sure which was worse.

And _now_ you sounded like that chick from Harrison Porter. You grunted.

“Hey, hey, check it out. Isn’t that the human everyone’s talking about?”

The voice was hardly bellowing, yet over the din of people whisking through the hall, it reached your ears loud and clear. You froze, the chill in your blood turning your legs to icebergs too heavy to move. You stole a glance toward the speaker, as surreptitious as you could manage; by human standards, this guy was big—though perhaps by demon standards, he was average. Granted, after running into Beelzebub a few times since your arrival, you had struggled to think of most demons as _big_ compared to him. This guy, though, had eyes like an eel, and they flared brightly when he caught sight of you looking.

Beside him, another demon stood and followed his motions. They were a hair shorter, lithe in physique. Still, something about their attention seemed worse than the first guy’s. “Well, well, it does appear to be. Heard Mamoron got stuck babysitting it. Do you think that’s true?” The other one sneered.

You tried to take another step, but something—was it your fear?—was slowing your efforts, making your muscles grind like gears.

“If anyone hears you call him that and reports it to Lucifer, you’ll be in for a world of pain, you know,” the first demon sneered. “Besides, doesn’t that work out in our favor? The human’ll be easy to nab, right? He won’t even notice if something happens. We just gotta move faster than Beel. No doubt he wants to eat them himself.”

The lithe demon took a stride forward, that smile he wore toothy and sharp. “And who could blame him? What Avatar of Gluttony would look at such a dish and not want a taste?”

Your heart pattered, though your legs still felt stuck. You wondered now if this was beyond your fear, if this was demonic magic. Your calves were aching faintly, as if everything from the knees down had transmuted to something heavy. You had hoped to be able to just press on, out maneuver them through the crowd and just lie low until you found Mammon again, but that was clearly wishful thinking since you could not even manage to lift a foot now.

Still, if you could not do that, there was another option at your disposal, not that you really _wanted_ to cause trouble your first day. On the other hand, if you made a scene like a crazy person now, maybe the rest of the year would be spent in peace because the demons would decide you were just mentally unstable and should not be approached. With a heavy _thunk_ , you dropped your backpack and stooped to grab hold of the mace’s grip with both hands. If you could get it out of the bag and swing it…

“Hey, you there,” a voice, collected and chilled, fell over you, gusting right past your ear.

You yelped, wheeling about as best as you could as you felt your legs seemingly somehow unlock. A young man was there—or was he a demon? You had not even heard this guy coming, so either you had been too distracted worrying about your medieval arms training or he was the demonic Avatar of Jump-Scares.

His eyes, a deep slate grey, narrowed in disapproval when he saw your face, his silvery hair adding little to make him more welcoming than a stone wall. “That’s right, I’m talking to you, the human with that frightened, tortured look that demons love so much.”

“Excuse me?” You frowned. He called you a human; that made you silently add points to the Avatar of Jump-Scares theory you were cooking.

“You know, it practically screams _‘come eat me! I’m delicious!’_ ” The man finished, either not hearing your protest, or choosing to ignore it. “Your name is (Y/N), isn’t it? Here, this D.D.D. is yours, I believe. It just slipped out of your bag when you reached for that…um…mace.”

He held out your phone, and with a somewhat mortified expression, you reached and took it into your hands wondering why you had not heard it drop. Thankfully, it was unharmed. Having to tell Lucifer after only three mornings that you had smashed your phone would have been an entirely new walk of shame. Still, you could not bring yourself to say anything beyond a mumbled “thanks”; your mind was otherwise occupied trying to figure out what sort of threat this was going to prove to be. He was a student—you could tell that much because his uniform matched your own. The Avatar of Jump-Scares, though, had not offered his name, and you were not over fond of the fact he already knew yours. Your eyes narrowed faintly.

“Haha! What’s with that look?” The silver-haired young man smiled. It was a rather charming one, you had to admit; it was hard to believe such an expression could be on a demon’s face, though ultimately you knew Mammon’s smile was similar when he was counting money. “There’s no need to be suspicious of me. I’m Solomon, a human exchange student, just like you.”

What!?

“Wait,” you gasped, clutching your D.D.D. to your chest. “ _You’re_ the Harrison Porter guy?”

Solomon’s smile faltered, a curious furrow pressing his brow together. “Do you mean am I a fan? Well, Harrison Porter’s all right, I suppose, though the fundamentals of magic it uses are incorrect overall. I prefer The Seven Lords myself.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you floundered. “I meant that I’ve heard you can do magic—like, real magic.”

“Ah, yes. I would consider myself a rather accomplished sorcerer, it’s true,” the young man hummed in answer.

You still could not fathom how this made sense, though if you could be kidnapped for an exchange program you had never signed up for in the world of actual demons, maybe the concept of humans using magic was not so odd after all. Still. “I just never imagined a human could actually…do anything like that,” you found yourself mumbling.

“Are you asking if I’m human?” His grey, storm-cloud eyes brightened, and his lips tugged wider. “That’s a good question, really, as sometimes I’m not sure myself!”

He laughed, the sound somehow…polished. Fake, perhaps? You blinked. Was this _not_ actually Solomon? Maybe this was a demon _pretending_ to be Solomon, trying to warm you up to get you somewhere you could be easily devoured. Paranoia was a foul beast; though, you already had heard two RAD attendees plotting to get to you before your own housemates did, and it was not strictly paranoia if it were _true_. Besides, saying things like _‘I’m not sure myself!’_ just screamed demonic mind games to you. “Why would you not be sure?” You repeated back, dumbfounded.

“Long ago, I obtained a ring of wisdom—a gift from a certain someone in a _very_ high position. And, drunk on its power, I used it to form pacts with seventy-two different demons, becoming a wicked sorcerer,” Solomon offered fluidly. With the way his eyes closed, and the way he cupped his chin in hand, you might have thought he looked sagely; still, the way he recounted the story so detached, as if reciting it from memory, was unsettling—and that was saying nothing about the actual content of the story.

Pacts with _seventy-two demons_?

“That is,” Solomon continued, finally opening his eyes once more. “If you believe the stories about me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And should I?” You tested.

You had heard the term _‘scimitar smile’_ before, and that seemed the perfect way to describe whatever this expression was that the maybe-Solomon wore. The silence passed for a beat, and just as easily as he had breezed up to you and started talking, the young man now deflected away from answering your question. “Now, you don’t want to be late on your first day. I’ll see you around, (Y/N),” he hummed.

“Wait—how did you know my name?” You inquired.

He paused, looking over his shoulder at you with a bemused twinkle in his cool eyes. “You haven’t realized it yet, but you’re a bit of a campus celebrity here at RAD. Not only are you a human ungifted in the arcane arts, but the rumor is a great demon like Mammon is looking out for you.”

You felt your lips press tightly together, your breath hitching in your throat. Maybe you could understand how a rumor about Mammon having to babysit you got around so fast; Mammon himself had been quite vocal about his displeasure at the arrangement, and all it would have taken was a single ear hearing his tirades to start that one going around. You were, however, a little more concerned about the knowledge getting out that you were _ungifted_. That probably translated to weak, which definitely translated to dinner. Now you could not even bluff about having some fancy spell up your sleeve if things got bad.

Solomon seemed to enjoy the troubled look on your face, and for a moment it looked as if he were going to make another remark. However, his eyes flicked over your shoulder, and whatever he saw down the hall seemed to swallow his urge to make any more conversation. He offered you a polite smile, turning to leave. “I don’t want to be late. Excuse me,” he finished.

“Wait! Could you tell me where Tower Two is?” You called, but either Solomon did not hear you or he did not want to answer, for his shape kept pressing away, and not a single word was offered to you in reply.

Heaving a sigh, you turned yourself, chewing your bottom lip as you considered the layout of the school. You needed to get a move on; you were not sure if there were punishments for being late, but you did not want to discover that torture was one of them on accident. Still, before you could take a step, a familiar, regal tone hummed to you. “Hello again, (Y/N).”

You froze, eyes snapping upward immediately to spy the immaculate school uniform, the sharp eyes of garnet hue. “Hello, Luficer, sir,” you tried to offer, but despite your efforts it came out closer to a mumble. 

You were not one hundred percent certain, but you were fairly sure that darkening of his expression was from amusement. “It seems you’ve become a bit of a celebrity,” he hummed, though you had a suspicion that the Avatar of Pride was in no way surprised by this. In fact, you had a hunch that he had likely known you would make waves before _you_ even knew the Devildom was real. “And you’ve gotten all the way here without being eaten. Good for you. Still, there’s no guarantee that you’ll make it to tomorrow.”

“So I’m aware,” you offered, a mix of gloom and agitation furrowing your brow. It was not like you had thought each day was guaranteed in your old life—though, you did admit now that you were living in Hell, you had never worried as much about dying as you had in just the past few days.

“Was that Solomon I saw you speaking with just now?” Lucifer inquired.

Well, there went your theory that the Avatar of Jump-Scares was a demon trying to play you like the poor kazoo you were. Still, thinking back on the young man’s strange demeanor over all, you were uncertain if this guarantee of his humanity Lucifer had just given you made him more approachable or not. “Yes, sir,” you answered. You left off the part about you assuming he was actually another demon for now; Lucifer did not seem like the type to fancy idle ramblings and unnecessary details.

“You and he are the only two humans here,” Lucifer hummed, his silken tone almost a purr as his eyes grazed past your shoulder to peer down the hall Solomon had used for his retreat. “Because of this, it’s fine if you associate with him. But, (Y/N), understand—he _cannot_ be trusted.” Those red eyes snapped to you for emphasis, and you felt your body jerk a bit in response.

“He…certainly seemed unique,” you offered, glancing over your shoulder yourself. “He told me that someone powerful gave him a ring of wisdom that he used to make pacts, or something.”

“Yes,” Lucifer agreed, his face souring ever so slightly. “Considering that alongside his powerful magic, surely you can see the need for wariness. He is the sort that would seek to subjugate greater demons, given the chance.”

Greater demons.

It was not the first time you had heard the term tossed around since arriving in the Devildom, though you had not really managed to get the courage to ask about what differentiated a lower-level demon from a higher one. You assumed, of course, that those in the House of Lamentation would classify as _‘greater’_ simply by the fact they were also considered the Seven Lords of Hell. But were they the _only_ greater demons? Or was Lucifer concerned about Solomon subjugating he and his brothers specifically?

Your nerves prickled down your spine at the thought.

“Does magic work on anyone?” You inquired after a moment.

Lucifer peered down at you, the _‘hmmm?’_ that rolled from his lips nearly palpable.

“What I mean is…if Solomon has the ability to subjugate greater demons, is it possible to do the same to humans?”

Lucifer’s smirk unfolded in that wintry show of subdued enjoyment. “You’re keen, for a human,” Lucifer drawled. “Yes. Magic can dominate humans, and angels, too. The stronger the being, the more magical force it would take, of course. So, as you can imagine, you are the easiest of all in the Devildom to conquer.”

You felt your stomach drop somewhat, and a grimace flickered on your lip. “Good to know,” you mumbled. That was an unpleasant thought, to say the least. You wondered if demons could sense magic, if a spell being cast was detectible by those who had the means of doing so. If so, then maybe you really did need to wrangle Mammon in for a pact for your own benefit, and not just to help out Leviathan. “Actually,” you began, wringing your lips together as you focused once more beyond your thoughts to make out the demon’s face before you. “I’d like to know more about Mammon.”

The change was subtle, but Lucifer’s eyebrow rose just faintly, and the light in his eyes seemed to dance in an interest that might have matched a snake about to strike. “Mammon? And why would you need to know more about him? Though, perhaps it is understandable, given that he is the one who is to look after you. Very well. As his brother, I don’t want to say anything unkind about him, so I’ll try to be sparing in my criticism.”

He paused for breath, closing his eyes. You thought you could _see_ his blood pressure spike, and feel the headache forming behind his eyes. Slowly they opened again, peering at you.

“He’s pure scum. The scummiest sort of scum. Pure, unfiltered, disgusting scum to the point where I’m embarrassed to call him a fellow demon, much less my brother.”

You blinked, mouth gaping open as you sought to comprehend the words you heard. “I thought you were going to be sparing in your criticism!”

“Believe me, I was,” Lucifer added lowly. There was a beat of silence that passed between you, your furrowed brow and cavernous mouth enough to relay your shock. Not that you had considered this at _all_ since you first stepped foot into this literal hellhole, but…

_Poor Mammon._

“So, any particular reason you asked, or were you just curious?” Lucifer hummed nonchalantly, as if he had not just set the standard for diss tracks in all the realms.

“I was actually wondering what sort of things are most important to him,” you said truthfully. “We aren’t…getting along well, and if I can find a way to bridge the gap, then…” _Maybe you would not need to be so frightened all the time_.

Also, you could get Leviathan’s money back. Which would take care of _another_ scary problem you seemed to have acquired.

Lucifer’s brow furrowed as if he were disappointed in his answer already. “That would have to be money. If you took all of his money away from him, what else would be left in his life? Nothing.”

“Hey, that can’t be true,” you found yourself speaking on impulse. “He has a family, and…” Still, the look Lucifer gave you reminded you—oh yeah. Diss track. “Okay, yeah. So money, huh?” Maybe it was better to just take what you were given.

“Money can take a lot of different forms, of course. But regardless of the form, as long as Mammon has his money, he’ll spend it. There are no limits with him.”

Well, that sounded like the credit card you were fishing for was one with a huge line of credit—clearly, and completely maxed out. Was that even going to be useful? Could you buy Mammon’s pact with something he could not even use? Your lip turned downward thoughtfully.

“So to impose limits of my own, there’s a certain form of money I’ve frozen in this case.”

“R-right,” you stammered. “I guess…I’ll have to figure something out, then.”

A shrill, biting sound ricocheted through the stone halls, and you flinched. How could even schools of demons have annoying bell dismissals?

You felt more than saw the way Lucifer smirked down at you. “You don’t want to be late for class,” he prompted in that panther’s purr.

“Yes, sir,” you added. Suddenly, your body seemed to snap to attention. “Oh! Could you point me in the direction of Tower Two?” That expression Lucifer wore merely sparkled brighter, and he motioned with an elegant flourish toward the stone spiral stairwell behind him. Your relief bloomed into a bright smile, and you eagerly waved to him, reaching to shoulder your mace and books once more. “Thank you so much! Have a good day,” you added, more on impulse than anything else, and at as hurried a pace as you could set, you began to move off toward the stairs.

You were long out of earshot when Lucifer hummed to himself, crossing his arms thoughtfully, that dark smile yet upon his lips. “No, nothing like Solomon at all.” And with that, the Avatar of Pride slipped away, the crowds of RAD parting for him as he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a little carried away with this one, so I am sorry for the length! I think this one is my longest chapter yet. Hahaha. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy our first look at RAD coming up here--I can't wait to explore the classes.


	7. Ice Cold Deal

**(Y/N):** Talked to Lucifer.

 **(Y/N):** All he said was that he has “frozen” Mammon’s assets to impose limits.

 **(Y/N):** That doesn’t seem useful. I’ll try again after class.

That was all you had time to send to Leviathan for now, though you hoped it was enough to at least relay you were honestly trying. Still, the saying was the road to Hell was paved with good intentions, and since you were already quasi-there already, this time it probably paved your way to being dinner instead. How many times could you honestly fish for the whereabouts of a confiscated credit card before Lucifer, being a millennia old demon, sniffed out your plan and killed you himself?

Well, if you died, one of your biggest regrets was going to be tackling this staircase with that mace on your back.

You were positively winded by the time you staggered onto the second floor, the short hall as full of demons as the lower one had been. A few more glances were spared to the schedule in your hand to verify the class number, and then you were there. The classroom itself did not seem overly demonic, though it absolutely felt foreign. Instead of light fixtures there were hanging candles, and the windows on the side of the wall looked like something ripped from a castle, the gothic, wrought-iron shaping offering a rather breathtaking display of the Devildom beyond the school. There were a few demons milling about, chatting with one another as they stood or sat about the long tables that served as desks; actually, they looked more like the workspaces of medieval monks. The quills, the angled wood—it seemed somehow wrong to think, _‘all it’s missing is the illuminated Bible!’_ given the circumstances, but nonetheless that was in fact your first thought.

You did your best to remain unseen, though failed miserably. Maybe humans had a distinct scent or something, because the second you passed in through the door, the conversations around began to wither, and you found yourself shrinking under the onslaught of eyes. Maybe if you just sat toward the back…

“Hey, human,” a voice barked, and you saw a shadow cast over you before you ever lifted your eyes to spy this demon’s face. “That’s _my_ seat.”

“O-oh, sorry,” you answered quickly, collecting your things before skittering off to find another place. You felt a bit like a rabbit in a tank of snakes. Very hungry, very powerful snakes.

It seemed odd, somehow, to wish that one of the demons from the House of Lamentation would walk in; they were, after all, no safer than the students around you. In fact, if anything, they were more dangerous. Still, that human adage about _‘the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t’_ seemed particularly truthful to you now. Not to mention you doubted anyone in the Devildom would mess with you if Lucifer himself was with you.

If you had claimed someone else’s seat by the time you settled on a new spot, nobody bothered you about it. However, there was a distinct feeling of both relief and loneliness when you realized not a single demon had taken a seat within two desk spaces of you, and you ardently tried to convince yourself to cling to the former. Maybe this was a place of demons, but school itself had always been rough on your self-esteem back when you were a student originally. Idly, you wondered if you had grown up enough since graduation to be able to handle the same cliquey stressors with more grace this time around. Though, you were not sure you could call this cliquey _exactly_ ; your problem was not going to be bullying from _‘cool kids’_ this time—it was going to be from the rest of the school thinking you were a viable snack option.

Another bell sounded, and while a majority of the room was already full, a few more trickled in at the sound’s heels. This included the demon you took to be the teacher, who was carrying a cup of coffee you were _pretty_ sure was screaming out garbled lamentations. “Good morning, class,” the teacher greeted; you were not sure if his skin was naturally tinted dark, or if he had circles under his eyes because he was exhausted. “Please open your textbooks to the first page, and we’ll go ahead and dive right in.”

This was it.

All you could do was take notes, and hope your face looked less concerned than you felt over the fact chapter one in the book entitled _Corruption and You_ was about virgins.

* * *

Your first teacher was one of those who definitely rambled right up until the bell dismissal, though in truth the subject matter was so unnerving you hardly noticed the time passing. Still, the moment it rang, you were eager to move on.

You dug out your schedule, dropping your eyes to scan over the details to locate your next class. When you found it, it was listed as being held on the _‘Fields of Punishment’_ , which right away sat poorly with you. You were not entirely sure what you were supposed to learn in a class entitled _Fiend Conditioning_ , but you figured if it involved something as terrible as an entire field of torture items, it was probably going to become your least favorite class.

Well, that was assuming it _was_ a field of torture items; technically you had to find it first to be sure.

It certainly was not in Tower Two, though, so you descended the stairs back to the main hall once again, thankful that going down floors was easier than climbing up, not that you were looking forward to hauling the mace around for the rest of the day regardless.

However, once you found your feet planted on the ground, you became rooted in place. _Maybe_ instead of locking yourself in your room over the weekend, you should have asked to get a tour of this gigantic demon school so you would not have been lost today.

You were standing in the hall, eyes flicking over the passing students as they went, attempting to gauge just who was the best person to approach for directions when a familiar voice met your ears from what felt like mere inches behind you. “You look lost.”

Gasping and whirling, you nearly moved to reach for your mace again; still, when you saw Solomon there, you abandoned the direct search for the weapon in favor of catching your breath. Could humans be avatars? Because this guy was absolutely the Avatar of Jump-Scares and _nobody_ was going to be able to convince you otherwise. “I am,” you answered simply, once you had garnered control of your voice again. “I think my next class is in the…uh…Fields of Punishment, but I’m not sure where that is.”

Or even, really, if you wanted to go.

“Oh, is it?” Solomon hummed. “I’m in Fiend Conditioning as well. It’s actually outside.”

Well, that made some sense, given it was supposed to be taking place in a field. He motioned with a nod of his head for you to follow him, and you eagerly obliged his prompt. Still, as you fell in step beside the silver-haired young man, you glanced to him nervously. “What…is the class, exactly?”

“It’s gym, but with a fancier name,” Solomon answered with a chuckle. “If there's one thing I’ve learned, all residents of the Devildom have a weakness for the theatrical.”

Gym class?

Of _course_ there was still going to be gym class, because this was as close to Hell as you were ever going to get.

Solomon noted your fallen look with a laugh. “Don’t worry, it’s not like the classes in the Human Realm. Wait until you see their relay races!”

Actually, you kind of wished you did not have to.

The field was already peppered with people as you and Solomon approached, and you did not see a single torture item outright. Overall, this class was definitely larger than your Ethics course, and counting Solomon it appeared you had _two_ familiar classmates.

The mop of orange hair reflected the bright lights beaming down on the field like a torch, and what with the way Beelzebub towered over the other people gathered, he was impossible to miss. People were crowding around him, too, like moths to flame, his attention partially on them, and partially on some kind of snack he was carrying.

Solomon seemed to catch your attention, and you found him smiling somewhat. “Ah, yes. You're staying at the House of Lamentation, right? Have you had a lot of time to get to know your dorm mates?”

“N-not really,” you answered. In fact, you had been slightly avoidant of them.

“I would think if you have eaten anything around the house at all, you’ve met Beel,” Solomon observed.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “He seems nice enough,” you shrugged.

Solomon grinned. “You know he’s the Avatar of Gluttony, I suppose?” You nodded a confirmation and his grin coiled a bit tighter as he dropped his voice a little as if in conspiracy. “It might surprise you that a lot of the students here think of him as the King of the Field, also. Though, he’s actually involved with the professional sports circuit here in the Devildom, too. What’s his nickname, again? Beelzebeast?”

“The Devildom has _professional sports_?” You gasped, though perhaps that should have been lower on the list of revelations. You had not really suspected that the Avatar of Gluttony would be a jock, though you supposed if you were built like an unholy tank, you _might_ have dabbled in more sports yourself.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow them much,” Solomon explained. “…You’ll get an idea of demonic pastime proclivities in class, though.”

The slight dip of his voice made you wonder if you were even going to like what you saw.

* * *

Fiend Conditioning, apparently, offered a slow day since there was a new student who the teacher had, quote, _‘not figured out how not to kill yet’_. The period was spent sending you to change into more exercise friendly clothing, and then being paired off for something like glima. You had never seen a glima match, however, where the participants competed in a ring of fire, and you were immensely grateful that the teacher took pity on your horrified expression and paired you with Solomon in a ring that _did not_ have any of the leaping, licking flames.

You lost every round—Solomon was surprisingly strong, or at least had a spell to make him so—but losing did at least allow you a moment to take in what you had deemed the ‘big demon’ ring. Apparently, nobody could best Beelzebub _at all_ , and when you were finally all dismissed to go change back into your uniforms, he was still the reigning champion of the day.

A reigning champion that you ran into the minute you walked out of the locker room after changing. “S-sorry,” you began to splutter, noting that his pleasant demeanor seemed to be gone, replaced with something more unapproachable. 

However, instead of a reply you heard something else. The sound that thundered around you sounded like a tiger’s roar, and you quickly looked about as if expecting one to launch at you from the shadows. All you saw, though, was the droop of Beel’s shoulders as his hand rose to press against his stomach. “I’m hungry,” he lamented, and it took you a moment of blinking in confusion to realize that rumble had been his stomach.

“Ah!” You exclaimed. Not wanting to be on the menu yourself, you had prepared for this. “Here!” You stuck a hand into your bag and pulled out a wrapped fruit you had swiped from the kitchen before heading out, extending it toward the demon eagerly.

Beelzebub’s eyes focused on it immediately, and with greedy hands he plucked it from your fingers. “Thanks,” he said with a small smile.

“Sure, no…uh…problem,” you replied, watching as Beel took a pointed bite, the red juices of the fruit, thick and dark, dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

You quickly averted your gaze, making a mental note to not pack safety snacks that bled red again. Your mind at the moment was a little too overactive for such visuals, and you were just as likely to see blood as you were fruit juice.

“Next you have Law, right?” Beel asked, peering down at the schedule you clung to in your hand.

“Yeah,” you answered. “You don’t happen to know where the classroom is, do you?”

Beelzebub nodded, beginning to wipe the traces of his now disappeared fruit away from his chin. “Yeah. I can go part of the way with you, but it should be easy to find. Mammon’s in it that period too.”

“That would be great, thank you,” you breathed in relief. Though, as you both took off for the school proper, you marveled at how the demons at the school both seemed to adore him and give him a wide berth. Though perhaps the latter had something to do with you.

* * *

Thanks to Beelzebub, finding Devildom Law was easy, and being greeted immediately by a resounding, _“Ugh, you’re in this class?”_ let you know that Mammon was indeed enrolled for this one as well. In similar fashion to Ethics of Corruption, the seat you took gained you a rather wide berth of empty chairs, Mammon himself sitting toward the back.

At least this class was not about virgins on day one.

Next you had Pre-Time History, which, thankfully had been just down the hall since Mammon had darted away before you could inquire for help. Solomon, as it turned, had spotted you looking like a lost sheep among wolves yet again; maybe Lucifer had claimed he could not be trusted, though for now you were simply thankful _someone_ was showing you around. This class was already swarming with demons when you both stepped inside, and you drew a steeling breath as you turned back toward Solomon in thanks. “I appreciate your help,” you admitted.

In response he just chuckled, motioning to a chair toward the front of the class. “It’s no problem. I’m in this class too. Join me?”

It was so nice to have someone willing to sit within two spaces of you, you took him up on the offer gleefully.

“Ah, both humans are in this class now, are they?” A familiar voice remarked. Satan also seemed to not mind the fact you were generally being avoided, sliding into a seat on the other side of Solomon. “I recommend detailed notes,” he hummed to you in warning.

You nodded, gulping thickly as you pulled out your pen and paper. From the corner of your eye you saw two more familiar faces passing inside. One was begging for money, the other, staunchly refusing to give it. If either Mammon or Beelzebub noticed you sitting with Solomon, you could not say, and it did not take long before the teacher called the class to begin in earnest.

* * *

Your hand was cramping by the time you had finished taking notes; it had been so long since you had been a student, trying to divvy up what was important information versus superfluous no longer seemed to be a talent you had. As such, you would have ventured to say that eighty-five percent of the lecture had been transcribed verbatim. Hopefully that was a skill that returned quickly, because with as packed as that lecture had been, this method of note taking was unsustainable.

“If I remember your schedule correctly, you should be in Spells and Potion Casting next?” Satan hummed, eyes flickering in amusement.

“Yeah…but I don’t have magic,” you murmured. “I might have to talk to Lucifer about getting it changed to something else…”

“Nonsense,” the blond purred, sounding for a moment like a more vivacious version of his eldest brother. “You can still learn it as a theory. Besides, potion crafting requires no innate ability. I believe the closest equivalent would be chemistry in your world. Asmo and I are in there with you, so I’ll show you the way.”

“Thank you,” you managed before having to near jog to keep up with Satan’s polished, pointed strides.

 _That_ class passed like a whirlwind, and like a lamb thrown to the wolves, the teacher wasted no time in starting hands-on experiments.

Thank goodness you could read directions.

By the time the bell had dismissed you, you were increasingly overwhelmed, and absolutely sure that lugging around a mace was not going to be doable for the rest of the year. When you saw Mammon again, you decided, you would have to see if there was a pepper-spray equivalent you could get your hands on instead.

Your last class was listed as _‘Arithmetic’_ , and you near groaned at the thought. Gym and math were both two things you had _thought_ you had left behind when you entered into the workforce. Or, well, _fancy_ math, anyway. On top of that, you found Mammon already there when you finally managed to follow Satan’s directions to the other side of the school, and though he did not outwardly curse your appearance like he did last time, he did not seem overly fond to see you waltzing inside, either.

Not that the tired hobble you had after carrying that mace all day after being tossed around in the demon-glima ring would be considered a _waltz_.

Ironically, once you had taken your solitary seat and the lecture began, you felt that this class was going to be your favorite; the familiarity of the subject matter was like a balm for the aches and pains you had been acquiring since your arrival to the Devildom, and you actually recalled more of the concepts than you had thought you would.

Still, when class ended, you had to beg Mammon to walk with you back to the House, and you passed through the rest of the day like a ghost amongst the walls, even surviving dinner without so much as a peep. The ache of exhaustion, though, did not seem to make it easier to sleep. Instead, your mind began to tread down various paths, unable to be quieted.

The hours ticked on, pressing close to midnight when you finally whimpered into the dark. “How am I ever going to sleep in a house of seven demons?” You questioned no one but yourself as you tossed to roll upon your back, though immediately you paused. 

Everyone had said there were seven brothers; you could recall Lucifer and Mammon _distinctly_ saying so, and when you imagined the assembly hall you had been summoned to last week you counted the chairs at eight. One for Diavolo, and presumably, one for each Lord of Hell. Still, in the three days you had been living in the House of Lamentation, you could not recall meeting more than six.

Before your puzzled mind could think on it further, however, your D.D.D. buzzed on the nightstand. Groggily you fished it into hand, wondering who in the Devildom was both still awake and wanting to talk to you. 

**Leviathan:** Just saw this, I was playing my new game lolololol

 **Leviathan:** Are you absolutely SURE Lucifer used the word “frozen”?

 **(Y/N):** Yes, I’m absolutely sure. Why? Do you think that’s important?

 **Leviathan:** Meet me in the kitchen. Right now.

 **Leviathan:** And don’t tell anyone what you’re doing. I don’t want anyone to mistakenly think that I hang out with a human normie.

“Who the hell else is going to be up at midnight and in the kitchen?” You grumbled to yourself as you stood, pulling yourself from the covers. Not that you could understand why Leviathan wanted to meet there, either; maybe he just wanted to reconnect on the plan, and this was the first time he had apparently come up for air all day. He was probably hungry.

You padded your way out into the hall, making for the kitchen, using the back of your hand to try and coax the exhaustion from your heavy eyelids that would not seem to find sleep. Likely, you had beat the other half of this secret meeting to the rendezvous point; you did have the room right next door, after all. Still, you froze in your tracks when you heard a sound inside. It was low, and reminded you a bit of crunching. “Is…someone in the kitchen?”

You could not outright call for Leviathan, you supposed, since he was so adamant about this being a secret. Though, maybe calling out was not the smartest idea to begin with. That was how people died in horror movies...

“Ah, perfect timing!” A figure rose from behind the fridge door, a bright smile on a familiar face. You were unsure why you released the breath you had been holding the minute you noticed it was Beel, but you sighed nonetheless, even as Beelzebub paced toward you. “You’ve got more food on you, right? The fridge didn’t have enough.”

Had you fed him so much that you had accidentally pavloved him into assuming you always carried snacks on you? If so, you were going to need to be more careful to make sure even your pajamas had pockets from now on. “Uh, n-no, nothing on me right now.”

His face fell. “I’m hungry,” he said.

“S-sorry,” you pressed, feeling yourself herding back a step.

That was when his eyes lifted somewhat. “What’re you doing in the kitchen so late?” He inquired. His tone sounded pleasant enough; maybe you had dodged the becoming-the-snack bullet one more time.

“Oh, I’m...hungry too,” you offered with a sheepish smile. If Leviathan wanted this to be a secret, that excuse would have to do. Not that it was an outright lie, you supposed; since coming to the Devildom, your eating habits had been a bit strained, and you had spent the last few days pecking at crumbs like a chicken instead of filling yourself. Though, hungry did not mean you had come to the kitchen to _snack_ necessarily.

“That makes two of us then,” Beel hummed. “I understand. When you get hungry in the middle of the night, it’s not like you can wait until morning to eat.”

You offered a vague nod and smile. “People back home say, _‘listen to your body’_.”

“Oh, but the refrigerator is empty. I already ate everything in there,” Beel added, that easy smile still hanging upon his lips.

Wait. He had eaten _everything_ in the fridge? A part of you was morbidly curious enough to see if that was an exaggeration or not, though you thought better than of moving to check it out now. You _did_ wonder how the person in charge of breakfast in the morning was going to take it, knowing the ingredients had been assuredly licked clean.

Not that you had imagined keeping a stocked kitchen was easy with seven people in one house.

Or six people and an invisible one.

You frowned.

Apparently the face you had made was strange enough that Beelzebub made note of it. “…Is there something you need?”

His rumbled question drew your attention away from the fridge, and you lifted your hands in supplication. “Ah, no, I was just thinking!” You assured. Beel shrugged, apparently satiated by the declaration, and took a step to pass you, but you called to him before he could get much further. “Actually—”

The redhead stopped, turning to look at you. Maybe it was because he had been so easy to get along with up until now, but you found yourself thinking that if anyone was going to be able to answer your question, it was the Avatar of Gluttony.

“Um, I was thinking about it earlier today, too. Lucifer and Mammon said that you all lived here as a family of seven brothers,” you began, trying to make your voice as innocuous as possible. You still did not know what triggers you needed to dance around in a house of mighty demon lords, and the thought of discovering one in a bloody epiphany was undesirable to say the least. “But I’ve only met six of you. It should be the youngest I haven’t met, right? I was just wondering—”

You swallowed your words the moment Beelzebub’s kind face furrowed into a frown. “Now listen,” he began, his voice low. “Don’t you ever mention him in front of Lucifer.”

“O-oh, okay. I won’t,” you promised, taking another small shuffle backward. You felt the pinch of the doorjamb in between your shoulder blades, though, and could not manage to force that second step to maneuver around it.

“And just so we’re clear, I’m not going to tell you anything either. Lucifer would yell at me if I did,” Beelzebub added darkly. “And don’t bother asking any of my brothers.”

“Yeah, no worries. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I…” Well, saying you were _‘just curious’_ made you sound nosey; though, realistically, maybe you _were_ just prying. “I was being intrusive.”

“No one will talk about him, even though he’s our brother,” Beel finished, though his scowl now seemed to melt into something more forlorn. “Treating him like he doesn’t exist…it’s not right. But Lucifer—” It was like suddenly the Avatar of Gluttony could see again; he blinked, shifting his eyes down to mark you as a small frown returned to his features and hardened his expression. “You know what? This isn’t any of your business, human.”

“You’re right,” you breathed hurriedly, a tremble snaking its way down your rubbery limbs. “I’m sorry for asking. Really. I won’t bring it up again.” Beel stared at you a moment, perhaps in an attempt to drive home the resolve for you to keep the promise you had just made, though in truth it was unnecessary; you had no intention of speaking about the seventh brother again after this.

It was then the demon’s face lit up, that unfiltered look of happiness upon his face once more. “I’m pretty sure Lucifer is hiding a poisoned apple in the desk in the study…” And with that, he passed by you and moved out into the hall.

You listened as his steps retreated from the kitchen, only daring to breathe when you could no longer make them out against the quiet of the house, the sound of your sigh bleeding into the kitchen. It had been a bit thoughtless for you to just come out and start prying; truly, it was none of your business, and why you were concerned about having one less demons around, you could not fathom.

Now you just had to wait for Leviathan, and hope that Beelzebub did not percolate in his upset the longer he thought about your stupid question.

“Psst. Hey!”

You froze, eyes sweeping the kitchen again. This time, there were no others around, and your heart began to encroach upon your throat. You had not asked the brothers if their house was haunted, in part because you did not think they would be honest with you about it if it _were_ , and also in part because it was almost better not to know given the fact you could not _leave_. “Oh my god, this place _is_ haunted,” you whispered as you took a step backward again. Maybe if you fetched your D.D.D. and texted Leviathan, _“Not the kitchen. What about the music room?”_ he would be down for that instead.

“I’m not a ghost,” the voice answered. It sounded somewhat familiar, though from where you could not say.

“…God?” You found yourself asking. At this point, anything was possible.

“What?! Are you kidding me? No. Over here. Look!”

Now that the voice was above a whisper, you were even _more_ certain you had heard it before. Tentatively you followed the voice’s summons, tiptoeing around the kitchen island. There still did not appear to be anything there, but…

Wait.

There, wriggling out from underneath the counter, was a familiar mop of purple hair and reflective golden eyes. “Leviathan?! What are you doing hiding down there?”

The irritable scowl on his face was enough to have you step back rather than offer to help him up. Not that he would likely want to touch you; he probably believed _‘normie_ ’-ness was contagious. Still, Leviathan hauled himself back up to his feet, dusting off his clothing as he huffed. “What do you think? Beel was just in here! I can’t have him finding me with _you_ , can I?”

Your chest felt heavy; you had not had someone so outwardly disgusted by your company since your _old_ school days, though the tendril of worry that Leviathan would have heard you ask your careless question definitely contributed to that pressing feeling as well. “Sorry I asked,” you mumbled.

“So it’s true, right?” Leviathan barreled forward, locking eyes with you from beneath his long bangs. “Lucifer _definitely_ used the word ‘frozen’?”

Maybe your worry was slightly unfounded, given that Leviathan was alike to Mammon enough that he did not even bother listening to you. In this case, you were grateful. “Yeah, he did,” you agreed with a nod. “But I don’t know how that helps us. Frozen assets just means they’re locked down. I promise, I’ll try and get more information, but—”

Leviathan’s face lifted, a laughter flirting with maniacal tones bubbling forth from his lips. “Excellent. In that case, it can only be here.” Pointedly he walked to the fridge, gripped the handle on the freezer door and motioned to it triumphantly.

You blinked, swiveling your attention from the door to Leviathan, then back once more. “…In the freezer?”

Either Leviathan was as dumb as he claimed Mammon was, or Lucifer was a dad joke aficionado, and something told you the likelihood the demonic Avatar of Pride, the fallen echo of Heaven’s most glorious angel, was probably _not_ into the same humor as you. Still, the Avatar of Envy had not even acknowledged your skepticism, instead opting to immediately tug open the door and begin to rifle through what you admitted was a nearly barren freezer.

Beelzebub’s appetite was a fearsome thing, it seemed.

“Hmmm. All I see is a bunch of ice inside…” Leviathan hummed thoughtfully, though you were not surprised yourself. Ice belonged in a freezer, credit cards confiscated by a Lord of Hell? Not so much. “Oh wait! Look!” Leviathan’s pleased cry sounded as he turned to make sure you were paying attention. He pointed to what looked like a carton of some kind. “It’s the ice cream Satan hid from Beel about a century ago. I totally forgot about that! You better not tell him it’s there, it’d spoil the joke. He’ll probably figure it out in another two thousand years or so, I’d say.”

You had a few questions, such as how would it take someone who apparently scoured the fridge and freezer _daily_ at least two thousand more years to find ice cream that you could very well see without issue in an empty space. The second was if it was hidden a century ago, the ice cream would have spoiled, right? They were just going to let it sit and sour more for the sake of pranking their brother?

Leviathan rolled his eyes as he turned back, perhaps reading a part of the concern on your face. “It’s a spell, okay? Makes it invisible to Beel. He _should_ be able to sniff it out or feel it out, though. Eventually.”

Well, that was at least one question answered.

“Just don’t tell him it’s there,” Leviathan stressed.

“I won’t—”

“Wait! There’s something else here behind the ice!” Leviathan trilled, sounding more like an archaeologist than an otaku. It was clear your promise was of little importance, so you rose up to peer over the demon’s shoulder as his fingers worked a chunk of ice free instead of finishing your thought. When he started laughing and turned, you found you had to pick your jaw up off the floor.

There, encased in ice, was a rectangular, black and gold piece of plastic. “No way,” you marveled under your breath. You were not sure what was more unbelievable: the fact that Mammon had never found the card, the fact Leviathan’s gut instinct had been correct, or the fact that you and Lucifer apparently shared similar tastes in jokes.

Okay, maybe it was the last one.

“Found it! Lucifer wasn’t lying. It really _is_ frozen!” Leviathan trilled pleasantly. “Ugh, it’s super heavy, though. And big, too! I’m going to put it in the microwave to thaw it.”

He turned, moving for the small rectangular appliance in the corner, though his words seemed to float airily through your ears and back out again without registering; in truth, your mind was still trying to picture what facial expression Lucifer had worn when he sneaked his way into the kitchen _just_ to lock a credit card away. Had he smiled? Had he crept in like one of those cartoon villains, applauding his own genius?

And since when would an Avatar of Pride, eldest of his brothers, and an extremely powerful demon, stoop to partake in veritable _dad jokes_?

Your own had never been well received back home, save for by those with an equally lame sense of humor, though perhaps Lucifer’s standing made _him_ immune to eye rolls and groans.

“Let’s see. I guess about two minutes on auto should do the trick…” Leviathan was muttering to himself as he set the block of ice inside.

It was not until you heard the appliance beginning to whir that you blinked your own thoughts away, and it took you but a moment to realize just what had happened. “Wait, I don’t think—” You started to say. You doubted microwaving a credit card was a good idea; not only would the ice melt away and make a big mess—Leviathan had _not_ put in anything to soak up the water—but the plastic would melt.

Still, before you could offer a single word of caution or warning, you were interrupted. “Oi, what’s with the racket, you two?”

“Mammon!” You gasped as you turned. He looked exhausted, and the fact he was still in his brown and white leather jacket and half-hidden behind those sunglasses that seemed particularly useless for the Devildom led you to believe that he had just come home. You glanced to Leviathan, wondering how he would want to handle this; even if he was fine with the card being found out right now, you doubted he was thrilled at the idea that Mammon would catch you both together in the kitchen.

Mammon, though, followed your gaze, spying the microwave with a narrowed, suspicious expression. It only took a moment for him to notice the contents. “Hey, wait a minute! There, in the microwave…that looks like Goldie, my credit card!”

Holy crap. He really _did_ name it! Not that you had ample time to marvel at that, since the Avatar of Greed was already rambling onward in increasingly worrisome attachments.

“My baby! The one thing more important to me than life itself…!” The smile on Mammon’s face illuminated the whole room, and you could not help but think it was as nice as Beel’s when he spied food. “Levi, get it outta there before the microwave demagnetizes it and makes it useless!”

Leviathan jolted and wheeled. “Oooh! I didn’t think of that. Better stop the defrost cycle, I guess!”

“Ya _idiot_ ,” Mammon declared, scrunching his tan face into a frown. “How could ya do somethin’ so stupid? You’re dumb as a stump, ya know that?”

You half expected Leviathan to begin that aura-dump that seemed to roll from demons whenever they were upset, but to your surprise the purple haired demon merely laughed, tossing a taunting gaze toward his elder brother. “Are you _sure_ you should be insulting me like that, Mammon? After all, _I’m_ the one who found the credit card Lucifer took from you.”

Mammon froze.

“So do you want me to give you your card back?” Leviathan half-sang.

This was where your worries began to rear up once more. Mammon was faster and stronger than Leviathan, right? That was what the third eldest had claimed that first night you were here. What was going to stop Mammon from just _taking_ what he wanted? And the way Leviathan was talking, you began to wonder if he was going to alter the agreement he had with you as well. He could very well muscle Mammon into paying him back now without your help if he had the card himself. _That_ thought sat surprisingly unwell with you, and you chewed your bottom lip. It was not that you wanted to have a demon slave, but after the day at school you had, having Mammon available to help you out of tight spots was increasingly appealing.

“You’d better!” Mammon growled, taking a step forward. Leviathan merely made move to shove the ice block back inside the microwave, finger hovering over a _‘Minute in Hell’_ button you were _pretty_ sure was beyond a normal microwave’s capabilities. The sound that leapt from Mammon’s lips was pitiable, to say the least. “I mean, yes, please. Please give it back, Leviathan, sir!” He had sunk to the floor, his knees cradling his weight in supplication. 

“Oh wow, this is embarrassing! I can’t believe that’s all it took for you to abandon all your pride.” Leviathan scoffed. “You’re even down on your knees! You’re one of the seven rulers of the Devildom, Mammon. Shouldn’t you be ashamed of yourself?”

You could not help but think that it was equally as shameful to lord a possession like blackmail, though decided now was not the time to dive into a morality lesson. Not with demons, and not when both parties would be happy to tear you apart if they suffered offense.

“Whatever. Okay, if you want your card back, you’ve got to give me the Seraphina figurine you won at the convenience store,” Leviathan declared next.

 _That_ had not been part of the plan. Still, the fiery look upon his face let you know the Avatar of Envy was playing no games.

“The Sera…what now? What’re ya talkin’ about? I don’t remember winnin’ anything…” Mammon looked genuinely perplexed, his brow pinched over his nose as his sapphire eyes pleaded for more details, or a shred of memory to help him out.

All he got in return was that primal, livid look that made Leviathan seem to grow a few inches taller. “I can’t believe this! You forgot you even _have_ her! How could you?”

“It’s a figurine of the Queen of High Elves,” you offered, as if Mammon would somehow recall her after that. “Maybe if you showed him a picture…?”

“Ugh, c’mon! Enough. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to ya! Just give me back my credit card,” Mammon pleaded from the ground.

Leviathan seemed to take that well enough; the smirk upon his lips was devious. “All right, but there is one more condition. You have to make a pact with this human.”

Relief washed over Mammon’s face, and his smile crept even wider. “Right, a pact—fine! I’m more than happy to—” It seemed it was only then his brain caught up to just what Leviathan had said, and his smile bled away to make way for something that was at first blank, but soon became faintly hostile. “Wait. What?! Why do ya want ME to make a PACT?”

“Think about it: if you make a pact with (Y/N), you’ll have to do whatever you’re told, right?” Leviathan hummed aloud, and you were not sure what was more surprising—the fact that Mammon looked horrified and somewhat resigned or the fact that Leviathan actually knew your name. “Then, (Y/N) will order you to give me my money back immediately, and since you can’t refuse a direct order from your master, you’ll do exactly that! Game over, I win!”

“Pfft, I don’t believe this. It’s just money, Levi. I can’t believe you’d go through all this trouble for that,” Mammon tried to deflect, though his clear eyes were shifting to you warily. He looked unnerved.

“Excuse me?” Leviathan trilled, leaning over slightly as if cocking his ear to listen better. “Remind me again which one of us tossed aside what little pride he had left _just_ to get his hands on a credit card?”

Mammon scowled, growling out an order for Leviathan to shut up before looking to you. “And you, human!” He began to climb to his feet again, and you took another shuffle backward, though found yourself caged in by the island. “What’re ya thinkin’ lettin’ Levi use you like this? Are you stupid? Go on, say something.”

This was your only shot. A glance over Mammon’s shoulder revealed Leviathan giving you a thumbs up, and you drew a breath to force yourself to make eye contact with the Avatar of Greed in earnest. “Make a pact with me, Mammon.” Much to your surprise, it sounded calm and collected—which was fine, because it probably would not work as well if you sounded queasy and nervous.

The yellow flecks in Mammon’s eyes flashed. “Nuh-uh, no way! Not interested,” he growled. “I am the Great Mammon, Avatar of Greed, one of the seven rulers of the Devildom! Fool.” He took a step forward, and though the air did not feel swimmy like it had when the demons unsheathed their auras, you felt a distinct tendril of fear running down your spine regardless. “Do you actually think I’d let some _human_ be the boss of me?”

“P-please, I don’t—” You began to try and assuage, but Leviathan merely tilted his head toward the kitchen entrance.

“Oh, Luuuucifeeeer!” He trilled. “Mammon’s here unfreezing his credit caaaard!”

Oh great. Like _that_ was going to make things better.

However, much to your surprise it _did._ Immediately, Mammon straightened and smiled at you, extending a hand as if to shake on an agreement. “I mean, _of course_ I’ll make a pact with you, human! I’d be thrilled to!”

“Wait—seriously?” You balked.

Apparently, _he absolutely was_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one was so lengthy, guys! I couldn't pick a spot to cut it in the center to make two chapters without feeling like something was missing. Hahaha. 
> 
> Also, my favorite part of this section of the game is that MC asks, "Is that you...God?" 
> 
> Can you imagine being Leviathan, and being asked if it's your DAD that is in the kitchen?! LOL.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! <3


	8. The Pomeranian That Holds the Leash

_You were standing in a sea of light that was nearly unbearable to your eyes; it was warm. Pristine. It was so thick, so encompassing, you felt as if you were alone, though as your eyes blinked, adjusting and readjusting to the golden beams, you began to make out shapes in the distance. They were vague, almost formless save for their glowing eyes, red like a sunset. Red like…blood._

_It was on your hands, warm and sticky, and you drew a shaky breath. “Help!” You called out, your voice echoing vainly through what must have been the opposite of an abyss. You reached your hand forward, watching the crimson rivers snake down your forearm and rain from your fingertips. “Please!”_

_The shapes kept their distance, though before you could lift your voice to call out again, you were falling. The light grew fainter as you plummeted, and you could only hear the sound of your own shrieking echoing back to your ears as you grasped for something, **someone** , in vain._

_Then, you heard it. A soft voice, inches from your ear._

_“Help him. Please.”_

* * *

You gasped as your eyes shot open, the now somewhat familiar shadows of your room in the House of Lamentation slowly coming into focus. Even under the covers, and despite the Devildom being what you considered naturally tepid, you felt a chill on your skin as you sought to sit up. You could feel the dream—no, _nightmare_ —morphing into an echo already, a promise that it would fade entirely by the time your faculties returned.

Was this because of the new pact?

Last night after Mammon said a few words like a reverent incantation, you had felt a pinprick of something like electricity sweep across your nerves for a moment. While it was not painful, reminding you more of the soft buzz from honeybees than anything else, you imagined that it _was_ unnatural.

Well, at least unnatural to you.

If other humans could perform magic, maybe it was not inherently aberrant on its own. Still, if you did not produce your own arcane power, your synapses suddenly getting a jolt of energy like that was _probably_ the same as getting a rush from a drug. In all the commotion, you had never once asked if there were going to be any side effects for you due to this deal with Mammon—things like, was this going to cause hallucinations? Nightmares? Or even, would doing this immediately send you to Hell when you died?

Realistically, the stress you had been under was probably enough to account for the bad dreams.

But, you supposed that did not mean you should not ask about the rest later.

You ran a hand over your face as if it could rid you of the lingering images and feelings from your interrupted sleep, a small sigh snaking past your lips. Eyes followed your hand in the dark as it reached, grasping your D.D.D. to check the time.

Four in the morning.

Maybe the smart thing to do was lie back down and try to sleep some more; things had been hard enough the past few days, and if your sleeping habits got any worse, you were afraid that the modicum of sanity you still had left was going to disappear. Still, the way your body felt wired and the way your brain seemed to grasp at its chance for lucidity made you suspect that you were not going to be catching any additional rest. You reached behind you, fingers tapping along the vines wrapped around the trunk of your room-tree until you found a small switch. A quiet _click_ , and a gentle light pushed back the Devildom gloom.

If you were going to be awake anyway, maybe getting in some studying would not hurt.

* * *

Your exhaustion grew the closer to breakfast it became, so when you heard someone beginning to mess around in the kitchen on the other side of the wall, you opted to get dressed and head out to make sure you did not succumb to the siren call of your pillow.

Apparently, intentionally seeking out a demon sat better with you than oversleeping on your second day of classes.

Honestly, you were learning a lot about yourself recently.

You yawned, shuffling out your door and toward the archway with bleary eyes. Beyond the sound of pots and pans rattling about, you could begin to make out faint music, and…was that humming?

You peeked your head around the corner, blinking once, twice, and then a third time before your mind caught up to the image you were seeing. There, half dancing around the kitchen counters was Leviathan, bobbing his head and singing along to a catchy little tune that played from the speaker of what you assumed was his D.D.D. sitting atop the counter.

“You want to tell her you love her, you want her to know how you feel!”

You felt your lips tug upward in a smile, and a small laugh began to creep through your chest.

Leviathan twirled, reaching into a bag that was laying beside the stovetop to produce the largest egg you had ever seen into hand. “Want to whisper it to her, but you’re no good with words, nooo—D’AHHH!”

With eyes as keen as an owl’s and just as wide, he saw you in the doorway; you had never known someone to lose all color and subsequently turn into a beet so quickly before in your life. “Good morning, Leviathan,” you greeted, your pleasant tones hinting at the laughter you had swallowed.

“You can’t just sneak up on someone like that and say, _‘good morning’_ , human!” The purple-haired demon declared, dropping the egg back into the bag in favor of using both his hands to try and cover his burning cheeks. “Like OMG what were you _thinking…_!?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” you began, stepping into the room proper. “I just heard someone in the kitchen, so I thought I’d offer to help out.”

“Help? _Help_?!” Leviathan wailed, shuffling back until he bumped into the counter on the far wall. “I don’t need some _normie_ spying on me and calling it _help_! You probably think it’s weird, dancing in the kitchen, but the new Sucre Frenzy album transcends your pitiful understanding!”

You lifted your hands in surrender. “Actually, that’s how I cook, too,” you admitted. “So, Sucre Frenzy? That’s the band?”

Leviathan blinked, peering at you through his fingers, and you could begin to note the way his rosy tint was ebbing. You would like to have credited that to your genuine, friendly smile, or even the admission that you, too, thought stovetops and ovens were better used with music accompaniment. However, it seemed the Avatar of Envy had latched on to something else entirely. “Wait, wait, wait,” he started, waving his hands, now dropped away from his face. “You don’t know _Sucre Frenzy_? They’re, like, the hottest group in the three realms!”

You wanted to interject that you doubted the Human Realm had a lot of influence from Devildom talent considering you had not even known Leviathan existed himself until a few days ago, but the demon was already on a roll.

“I can’t believe you don’t know Rochet and Crystal! They’re sooooo cute, and talented! The dance routine for _this_ song is so intense, I bet _Beel_ couldn’t even do it without getting winded! And _they still sing_!”

The D.D.D. was still sounding out the contents of Leviathan’s playlist, and you certainly felt the catchy beat in the song’s underbelly. Despite the fact the band was completely foreign to you, something of the music reminded you of artists you _did_ know, and that pop-ish sound sent a twinge of enjoyment through you as your fingers began to tap against your thighs in beat. “I like it,” you observed honestly.

“Well of _course_ you do,” Leviathan huffed, stalking toward his bag of ingredients and reaching in to pull out the giant egg once more. Unfortunately, after its rough release it was cracked, and Leviathan eyed it dourly before heaving a sigh and reaching for a pan. “But don’t go thinking you could ever love them like me! I’ve been with them since the beginning, you know! When nobody even knew who they were! I’ve been to a bunch of their concerts, too. Once, Crystal even _looked at me_ from the stage!”

Leviathan was one of the most powerful people in the Devildom; your head knew that. It knew also that he was dangerous, and probably older than anything in the Human Realm. Still, the only thought you had seeing him gush about his favorite band, eyes suddenly shimmering in joy, was that he was also absolutely _adorable_. Maybe you were too exhausted; you could not stop the warm laugh from finally slipping by your lips.

Immediately he turned and glared at you. “I told you you wouldn’t understand!” He declared, pointing at you with the aid of a spatula as the now dismembered egg began to cook on a large skillet.

“No, really,” you replied. “I’m just laughing because—well—this is the most normal thing that’s happened to me since I got here, and it was nice.”

Leviathan’s lips clamped shut, a startled and somewhat indignant expression overcasting his face like a cloud. “How dare you, a _normie_ , call me, an _otaku_ , normal!”

“Right, sorry,” you conceded, fighting back your amusement. “So, do you need any help in the kitchen? Actually, after Beelzebub said he cleaned out the fridge last night, I assumed you wouldn’t have any ingredients.”

“I’m an _otaku_ ,” Leviathan repeated with a huff. “I’ve got a fridge in my room, too. When I know I’m cooking, I’m not stupid enough to leave it out here for Beel to find. Pfft.”

“I can see why that would be necessary,” you admitted.

Leviathan rolled his eyes and you began to wonder if perhaps you had pushed too far for the time being. “Ugh. Anyway, no. I don’t want _or_ need your help. Just…go do normie things until it’s ready.”

You were not sure what _‘normie_ _things’_ entailed, exactly, but you decided not to press your luck any further, and gracefully bowed out so that Leviathan’s miniature concert could resume without an audience.

* * *

When you finally reemerged for breakfast after doing your ‘ _normie_ _things_ ’, your hair was fully styled, and you had donned the finishing touches to your uniform. You assumed it would get easier to get ready the more you had to wear it, but there were so many buttons, clasps, and accessories involved, you felt like you deserved a gold star for simply getting dressed.

Leviathan was just finishing up plating as you passed into the dining room, drawn by the scent of the finished meal. The table was so laden with simple food dishes it nearly looked overburdened. You suspected it could have been enough to hold over an entire army division, however, after witnessing a few meals with Beelzebub, you knew better than to think there would be leftovers; in fact, the whole table would be cleared before you even made it to class.

This morning, the sight of the scrambled eggs, toast, butter, jam, and some kind of cheese nearly made your mouth water.

Were the scrambled eggs actually from some kind of dragon? Likely.

Was that berry preserve made from something you actually could have found back home? Probably not.

Still, this was the most _normal_ meal you had seen since coming to the Devildom—if you ignored what looked to be some kind of crispy centipede strip that was possibly supposed to take the place of bacon.

Oh, and the butter was maybe moving.

Other than that, though, this was not so bad.

You honestly thought it would have taken longer than a handful of days in the Devildom before you started being _okay_ with moving food, and you could not tell if you were maybe just hungry to the point of near starvation, or if you should be disappointed in yourself. 

Leviathan offered you a glare when he noticed you standing in the entry, though soon slumped into his seat to start filling his plate without a word. Perhaps that was the right idea; it would not take long before Beelzebub showed up, and since this was the first meal you felt like you might be able to stomach partaking in, you really did not want to waste it.

“It looks good,” you complimented quietly as you sank into your usual spot, glancing to the demon with a congenial smile.

“Pfft. Whatever,” he grumbled in reply, and though he tilted his head as if to look away, you were pretty sure he was trying to use his purple bangs as some kind of curtain in the hopes you would not notice his blush.

You were not going to press the matter—you still valued your life, after all, and were not naïve enough to think that a demon lord would _like_ being called out on his embarrassment—but even if you had _wanted_ to ask him about his blush, you would not have had a chance. Soon you found yourself no longer alone. First it was Satan who ambled in, though it seemed only three steps behind was the Avatar of Gluttony himself. Beelzebub looked pleased at the large array of food, and took his seat at almost the same instant he began to load up his plate. Things were quiet and uneventful enough, perhaps because Mammon was not at the table himself, and it allowed you to delicately explore Leviathan’s safer meal options relatively undisturbed; or, at least that was the case until Asmodeus joined the table.

From the second the Avatar of Lust had entered the dining room, his rosy gaze zeroed in on you, and you felt mortification begin to bloom in heat on your face when it looked like he was _laughing_.

Actually, he definitely _was_ laughing; the trill of his almost musical amusement was bursting from him before he had even set himself down in his chair.

Was it your hair? The way your uniform looked? You had not dealt with Asmodeus often in your handful of days spent in the Devildom, but you suspected that the immaculate presence he tried to keep meant he had very specific ideals for other people also. Perhaps, you began to find yourself thinking, you did not fit them.

He leaned his elbow upon the table to cup his chin in his palm, the casual, almost suggestive fluidity of the movement making you somehow even _more_ certain he saw you as an eyesore. It was so perfect, so over the top, that it was probably the demonic flirting equivalent of a southern, _‘bless your heart’_.

“I didn’t think you’d have it in you!” He hummed, the spark flying from his gleeful eyes causing your muscles to tighten.

“W-what do you mean?” You asked hesitantly, a hand lifting to tug on the hem of your uniform jacket and smooth your hair as if they could be the cause of the offense.

“It’s all over Devilgram this morning, you know,” Asmodeus laughed in amusement, quickly producing his D.D.D. and flipping the screen to show you what he was talking about.

It was a photo of some kind of printed e-ticket or something, though you could not read the lettering on the paper yourself because it was written in infernal, and bits of it had been blurred out as if it were too sensitive of information to have on demon social media. Honestly, it meant little to you, and you nearly asked what you were supposed to be looking at, when your eyes drifted to the caption beneath the image, it made your cheeks blaze.

**L3V1** Finally got my preorder in tonight

because @Mammoney would do anything

for Goldie, even make a pact with a HUMAN.

LOLOLOLOLOL. See you at the live event!

#JourneytotheDevildom

**Asmobaby and 362 others liked this post.**

You read and then _re-_ read the caption, your brain slowly wheeling. Satan arched his brow to his brother in silent question, and Leviathan at the end of the table was beginning to laugh as well. “You must be the human Mammon had to make a pact with, right? Solomon would've told me if it were him—not that he’d want Mammon of all demons,” the Avatar of Lust trilled.

Asmodeus’ words nearly made you flinch with how far and loud they carried over the table, and they certainly lifted Satan’s brow in surprise. “Really? Mammon’s in a _pact_ with (Y/N)?” He shot you a look that read as if he were very much impressed, or perhaps very doubtful. You did not know which one made you feel worse, and your cheeks grew even warmer in response. Only Beelzebub, it seemed, did not care for the gossip Asmodeus had begun to spew. Instead, he was happily munching, and reaching for another handful of the centipede things.

“Ahahaha!” Asmodeus was practically devolving into tears he was so amused, and Satan offered him a sideways glance.

“Asmodeus, keep your voice down,” the blond said, rolling his eyes somewhat. Still, there was a bit of a tug at the corner of his lips as he, too, fought back a smile. “If Mammon hears you, he’ll get upset, and we won’t hear the end of it.” 

“Eh, he won’t be awake for a while. He got in late and he’s really not a morning demon, you know?” Asmodeus dismissed with a wave of his hand before the grin on his face turned almost conspiratorial. “And anyway, how could you _not_ laugh after what’s happened? I mean this is _Mammon_ , and yet a human was able to play him like a fiddle and force him into a _pact_.”

“I didn’t really—” You started to protest, hesitantly.

However, you did not get further than that, the blond’s own laughter beginning to slip through his pursed lips. “Pfft…heheheh!” His shoulders shook as he folded in on himself, a hand lifting to hide his mouth as if it would somehow make the whole situation more polite.

It did not, at least from your standpoint.

You looked to Leviathan, a question written in the wrinkle of your brow. _Why in the world would you post about this?_ If he could decipher your query, he made no effort to answer it. You felt uneasy, in part because you were not the mastermind that Asmodeus seemed to think you were, and in part because you wondered if this was actually going to sour your relationship with Mammon more.

Had you played Mammon like a fiddle? Not in any way. _Leviathan_ had, maybe, but all you had done was fish for what you thought were useless answers from Lucifer like some kind of loyal dog. And the dog was probably a Pomeranian or something, because you certainly were not intimidating in the least.

However, you _did_ hazard to think that you were extra thankful for the pact now; if Mammon did not already know the whole Devildom was aware of your standing together, he would soon—and you had a feeling he was going to be none too pleased.

“Mmm, this is delicious. The meat is so tender,” Beelzebub rumbled happily from his spot across from you, apparently unconcerned with any of the antics that had occurred the night previous. Whatever those centipede-looking things were, Beel seemed to find them highly enjoyable. You averted your eyes to keep from grimacing.

“Beel, calm down. You’re biting off chunks of your _plate_ along with your food!” Leviathan sighed.

You wondered how often this type of conversation occurred, and how much money the House of Lamentation spent on dining set-ups each month. It was apparently common enough that Asmodeus ignored Leviathan completely, looking back to you. “You know, I have to say I’m surprised. I never thought a completely average human like you would be able to make a pact with Mammon—certainly not _this_ fast. This is what? Your fourth day here?”

You wondered what _‘completely average’_ meant, though decided it was best to leave _that_ alone. A quirk of your lips, wry and uncomfortable, was all the answer you gave to him as you tried to submerge yourself in the act of eating as some kind of disguise or wall.

Asmodeus seemed unwilling to let you disappear, however. “I guess they really did know what they were doing when they picked you for the exchange program, huh?”

That implied he thought they had not known what they were doing before, and while perhaps you would have agreed with that sentiment—and still _did_ —it felt somehow worse to know another one of the Seven Lords of Hell thought the same. At this rate, the only two demons who _had_ thought you were a good pick were Lucifer and Diavolo, and you were not even fully sure they had not done this for entertainment. “Look, I didn’t really do anything,” you tried to murmur.

Satan smiled at you, a motion that was bright enough that you wondered if this were closer to the true face of his mirth. “There’s no need to be humble about it. We’re not upset. Honestly, we think it’s pretty funny.”

Yeah, well, you had gathered that much by the fact they had not stopped laughing.

“All I know is I finally got Mammon to give me back my money, so I couldn’t ask for a better outcome,” Leviathan interjected excitedly. “Epic win for Leviathan! I should’ve rounded up a random human and done this sooner. Now I’ll be able to go to the promotional event!”

“You know,” Asmodeus interjected in a silken hum as if to block Leviathan from venturing too far down the path of his thought. “I find it surprising enough that (Y/N) managed to make a pact with Mammon…but what’s even more shocking is the team up with Levi that made it happen. Don’t you think, Satan?”

Leviathan was spluttering to a halt, his geeky monologue suddenly cut short as he gasped, looking to his brothers in a mix of horror and disbelief. Satan merely grinned, nodding to Asmodeus in agreement. “Yes, I never thought I’d see the day a _human_ won over Levi, but here we are.”

 _Won him over_? Your eyes widened, and you looked to Leviathan yourself. He _had_ been one of the few to learn your name, but you were pretty sure you had just been a tool—a means to an end. Still, when your eyes settled on the third born, his face was definitely pink. Did that mean Satan was right? Had you made a tentative connection with Leviathan like you had with Beelzebub?

“Excuse me?! Don’t go getting the wrong idea. Nobody _won me over_ ,” Leviathan declared in a huff that seemed maybe a shade too forceful to be honest. Still, those had been the words you had _expected_ to hear, so maybe it was the truth, and the purple-haired demon was simply flustered his brother thought he had acquired a pet dog. “Our interests happened to align, that’s all! The relationship was purely business! I mean, why would I want anything to do with some non-otaku, normie of a human?”

You felt your shoulders sag as you picked up a slice of toast with a sigh. While you would not have ventured to call it anything but a business relationship either, really, it seemed Leviathan was absolutely against seeing any value in you at all. It stung; maybe because just that morning you had felt like he was the most familiar personality _in_ the House of Lamentation, which maybe had conned you into thinking you could be friends.

Though, apparently that had been wishful thinking; Leviathan was not even done listing the reasons why you never could have won him over yet. “I wouldn’t! I mean, I’m spoken for!”

 _Spoken for_? “W-wait, Leviathan, that’s not what Satan meant—” You tried, cheeks beginning to cook themselves as thoroughly as the scrambled egg on your plate.

The demon, though, did not seem to register your interjection at all, and you watched in muted horror as this train barreled straight into relationship talk that you were pretty sure Satan had never intended to have. “M-m-my one true love is—”

“Cheeseburgers!”

The whole table turned to Beelzebub, the redhead’s smile golden and dreamy. Just like that, the awkward tension Leviathan’s ramblings had begun to pump into the air was dissipated. You felt a bit of a laugh rising in the back of your throat now, though you tried your best to swallow it down. You were not entirely successful, however, and the short sound that escaped your watch was almost like a snort. Not that you could have helped it; you had seen enough movies to feel like you could recognize that stereotypical, _“new love”_ daydreaming look anywhere, and it was _absolutely_ on Beel’s face.

Leviathan frowned. “No! That’s _your_ true love, Beel!”

“Mmm,” the behemoth hummed. Whether it was because he was agreeing or because he was hungry, though, you could not quite decipher. “I get hungry just thinking about them.”

“You guys have cheeseburgers?” You found yourself asking, the shade of your humor still clinging to the pleasant lilt of your voice. A part of you wondered if it was some demonic equivalent that they were talking about and not the ones you were familiar with, though Beelzebub looked to you almost eagerly.

“Hell’s Kitchen finally got them,” Beelzebub explained as a bit of drool began to pool at the corner of his lips. “They’re the best thing in the whole Human Realm, so I asked Lucifer to bring one back the last time he was there so the cooks could learn to make them. And they have this five hundred year old cheese…” His voice trailed away, and you could not help but think the redhead really _did_ seem like he was floating on rivers of clouds and rainbows over the thought of a simple cheeseburger. Though, you had to admit, after the food you had been given since your arrival in the Devildom, you too felt a dreamy twinge at the thought of a good burger and fries.

“You know, with the way things are going, the rest of us might just find ourselves in a pact with (Y/N) as well if we’re not careful,” Asmodeus sang, tugging the conversation back to where he wanted it, and you did not.

“Oh, I don’t think—” You began to counter.

Asmodeus, though, seemed to have the same gene as Leviathan and Mammon when it came to letting you speak. His eyes locked onto yours, the curl of his lips playful. “If you had your choice, which one of us would you forge a pact with next?”

His gaze was too intense for your liking. Honestly, this felt eerily similar to the catty games you recalled being played back in high school among the girls; they would trick someone into choosing sides in an impossible scenario, and then leap at the chance to tear them apart for their decision—no matter what they said.

“I don’t think I’ll need another pact,” you answered. It was not like you were going to be willing to trade your soul for the next one, anyway. You had what you needed, a guardian who could no longer abandon you to die without your consent. Going any further was just, well, greedy.

“Awww, you’re no fun,” Asmodeus clucked, though his eyes never wavered from yours; perhaps he was willing himself to read your thoughts, or maybe he was simply trying to exert enough pressure to bait you into filling the silence with something else. Something he could feast on.

You did not waver, locking your lips tight; or, at least until Satan made a disappointed sigh. “…Beel, have you been swiping food off of (Y/N)’s plate this whole time?” The blond inquired.

“What?” You looked down, finding your toast and scrambled eggs now mysteriously missing, and a pair of large fingers plucking up the remaining slice of cheese you had on your plate as well. “Hey!”

Beelzebub did not seem to mind your protests, dropping the cheese into his mouth with a contented hum as he moved on to other things. You simply stared, trying to decide if you were more surprised such a giant could be so sneaky, or more miffed because this was the first meal you had stood a chance at finishing and now it was gone.

“You know, Asmodeus, maybe I should try for Beelzebub next so I can stop him from stealing my food,” you grumbled, reaching to refill your plate.

Your small complaint caused Beelzebub to frown at you. “Not gonna happen,” he declared, his tones deep and dredging the makings of a growl. Still he paused, and you could see him thinking, even as he reached to stab his knife into the butter that had very nearly made its way off the serving dish. “Well, if you gave me all the food I could ever want, maybe I’d consider it.”

“Good thing I was kidding, because I’d never be able to find that much,” you offered.

“Yeah, you won’t be able to tame _us_ as easy as you did Mammon, human,” Asmodeus interjected, and you wondered if he phrased it that way because he thought _he_ should have been first on your desirables list. “In fact it’s quite offensive for you to think that we’re as stupid as that poor excuse of a demon.”

“But I don’t want—” You started to press again, though your words were cut off when a familiar tan form with a mop of white hair nearly materialized at Asmodeus’ side.

 _Slap_.

The Avatar of Lust rocked forward, his head nearly meeting with his plate of scrambled egg as he reached to immediately cradle the back of his skull. “Ow! Why’d you _hit_ me?! I can’t believe you actually struck my beautiful, _beautiful_ head!” Asmodeus whined, turning to glare upward to his brother. “Not even Lucifer has ever done something like that! Why are you always getting so violent with me, Mammon?!”

“That was for calling me a poor excuse for a demon, you peabrain,” Mammon grunted. His blue eyes flicked to you, a phantom snarl passing for a moment over his lips before he seemed content to turn away and ignore you all together. You felt yourself sink a bit in your chair. “Actually, I oughta hit all of ya, the way ya talk about me. Y’all think you’re so great.”

Satan shook his head, pitying green eyes trailing Mammon as he began to tromp his way toward his seat beside you. “It’s not that we think we’re so great,” he assured.

“No, not at all,” Asmodeus tagged on with a huff, abandoning the rubbing of his sore head to begin to coax his silken hair back into place. “We just think you’re a complete and utter fool.”

“Hey!” Mammon exclaimed, yanking his chair out from under the table before glaring to his siblings one at a time. “That’s even worse! Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”

His demand was met with various forms of dismissal. “Oh, I’m afraid that’s one thing that’s not going to change,” Satan hummed, turning back to his food.

“Nope,” Asmodeus agreed.

“Serves you right, Mammon! Lolololol!”

“H-hey,” you started to pipe up. Maybe Mammon did not think things through before he acted, and _maybe_ it was an insult for a great demon to have someone like you holding a pact like a leash. Still, it really did not seem to requite such a hostile exchange. You wondered if the family of demons had not realized that their words were leaving the territory of playful banter and heading straight into pure bullying, or if demons simply did not care.

You recalled being picked on yourself when you had been younger, the way your chest had tightened and felt hot, and the nights of anguish you had spent crying yourself to sleep. You remembered, also, wishing someone else had stepped in to help. Though if anyone had been willing, their actions had been choked out by fear.

Maybe it was what gave you the resolve to frown at three powerful demons when you yourself did not have a single scrap of authority to your name. “I think that’s too—”

Not that this house had anyone in it who would let you talk, it seemed. Even Beel was content to bulldoze over you. “Mm, this right here is delicious, too…” The redheaded demon, having now conquered the runaway butter, mused blissfully as he took another bite of the toast and jam spread he had made.

“I hate every last one of ya,” Mammon declared as he finally slumped into his seat beside you. He still had not looked at you a second time since entering; maybe the pact had ruined your chances of getting along. “You know, none of this would’ve happened to begin with if it weren’t for that bastard Lucifer!” Mammon declared as he looked up once more, beginning to reach and grab what he could by way of food. “It’s because he took my credit card from me! Just snatched Goldie away—kidnapped her against her will!” He took an almost feral bite of his toast, golden-brown crumbs raining from his lips.

Leviathan lifted a lip in disgust. “Ugh, don’t talk about your credit card like it’s a person. It’s gross.”

“Yeah, it really is,” Asmodeus agreed.

Mammon was quick to offer a _‘shut up_ ’ to both of them, though as the food he had plated slowly began to make its way into his stomach, you noted it looked like his spirits were lightening. “Ya know, I can’t believe that when Lucifer said he froze it, he meant it _literally_! Who sticks a credit card in the _freezer_?! Was it supposed to be some sorta dad joke? ’Cause if so, it was awfully lame.”

Not that you disagreed with Mammon’s assessment completely, because dad jokes _were_ one hundred percent lame, but his declaration did not take into account that it was therein that lied their appeal. “Dad jokes are hilarious though,” you offered, lifting your eyes from your plate a moment to try and see if Mammon would acknowledge you yet.

However, if he did, you did not notice; instead, a movement of dark cloth and silken, raven-colored hair caught your attention by the doorway. You felt your heart stutter, instantly recognizing the new presence standing there, cup of coffee in hand.

Lucifer made no outward response to Mammon’s declaration, instead opting to stand there like a specter, eying the second eldest like a raptor might eye a mouse in the field. Leviathan and Satan certainly had noted his arrival, and if the small snort from Asmodeus was any indication, he had as well. Unfortunately, Mammon did not seem to be as observant, and took the gentle laugh as a sign his brothers thought he was being funny.

You opened your mouth to urge Mammon to be quiet, but Lucifer’s red eyes flicked to you, and a single finger rose to press against his lips. Your stomach knotted, finding the discomfort and shame of sitting and letting Mammon get himself into more trouble just as strong as your fear of Lucifer’s reprimand for disobeying his plea—well, likely _order_ —for silence.

“Eh, I guess maybe I shoulda expected somethin’ like that from him. I mean, he may not be a dad, but he _is_ pretty old, isn’t he? So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised his humor’s bad. Hahaha!” Mammon’s laughter vaulted through the dining room and you winced when it was joined in chorus by a dark caricature of the sound from the doorway. Somehow Mammon _still_ had not noticed. 

Lucifer finally strode into the room, peeling away from the entry like a living shadow. “You think I’m old?” He questioned.

It was only then, it seemed, that Mammon realized just who was looming over his shoulder. “D’AAAH!”

The crack of Lucifer’s glove against Mammon’s ear was enough that the Avatar of Greed’s chair rocked to nearly spill him onto your lap, however the tan skinned demon proved his speed once again, hands darting out to steady himself before whipping to face Lucifer with a petulant frown. “Ow! Hey, what’s the big idea?! You didn’t have to hit me _that_ hard!”

Asmodeus sighed, shaking his head. “…You know, honestly, he’s so stupid that it’s almost sad.”

“Mmhm,” Satan agreed, cringing a bit himself as Mammon’s ear bloomed red from the impact of Lucifer’s hand. “I can’t believe he’s actually our brother,” he lamented. “It’s almost like we’re being punished or something.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Mammon growled, the golden flecks of his eyes once more beginning to flash.

“And _I_ heard about what happened, (Y/N),” Lucifer drawled, looking down at you, his cold smile tugging on his lips. Your overwhelmed, somewhat horrified expression turned to settle on him as he stood at your shoulder, the saliva in your mouth suddenly thick and difficult to swallow.

“O-oh, that,” you muttered, gut knotting tighter.

“It appears you outfoxed a certain dimwit of a demon and forced a pact with him,” Lucifer’s eyes were sparkling, like illuminated garnets.

“I really didn’t do anything,” you tried to mutter, though you were pretty sure your words were lost when Mammon shouted himself.

“Who’re you callin’ a dimwit?!”

Lucifer’s lips spread wider, though he continued without giving his brother a sideways glance of acknowledgement. “Your opponent may have been stupid, but even so, you’ve only just arrived. It’s a real accomplishment managing a feat like that in such a short span of time. Well done.” 

Well done? You blinked, saying nothing and hoping your face did not look as perturbed as you were beginning to feel. Realistically, you had not done _anything_ ; Leviathan had been the one to find the card, and even negotiate the pact. On top of that, it seemed this arcane contract had made poor Mammon’s life even more miserable than it already was.

Maybe he was not the most responsible demon around, but the amount of poison that had been tossed around this morning alone was enough for you to feel bad for him. A part of you wanted Lucifer to take back his praise, and the other part of you worried what you would have to do in the coming months if _this_ was the kind of result he was expecting of you.

“I imagine Diavolo will be pleased as well,” Lucifer added as he finally began to move to take his own seat, setting his coffee down upon the tabletop. “We continue to expect big things from you.”

“O-oh,” you stammered, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. No pressure, right? “I hope I don’t disappoint.” It was all you could think of to say, and you felt dread sinking into you. What would happen if you _did_ disappoint them? One slap like Lucifer gave Mammon, and you were pretty sure your brains would be splattered. Your breath hitched, and you turned to look back down to your plate as a distraction, though once more found it empty.

A peek at Beelzebub showed he was quite contentedly chewing.

At least breakfast had not been miserable for _everyone_.

The moment of silence clung to the air like a fog before Mammon moved to brush it away. “…Hey, human! C’mon, time to get going,” he declared. Though when you did not immediately snap to attention, ready to go, he frowned. “Don’t just sit there with your head in the clouds. It’s time for class! So, let’s go!” And with that, he was reaching for your wrist and hauling you to your feet.

A part of you wanted to protest, but mostly you were just thankful to get out of the dining hall. “Coming,” you answered, but it was relatively pointless. Mammon was already dragging you out of the door and into the hall before the second syllable had even cleared your lips, and you could feel all five pairs of eyes in the dining room on you as you went. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend, friends! 
> 
> This part of the game was extremely hard to turn into a narrative, I'll be honest, so I hope I did an adequate job! Hahaha. Breakfast is MAYHEM. 
> 
> Please enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think! <3


	9. Never Trust Addition

“Can’t go two seconds without bringing up Diavolo,” the demon growled as he strode, the words filtering back to you almost too jumbled to make out. “Bet if Diavolo asked him to jump off a cliff, Lucifer’d do that, too.”

Long, tanned fingers pinched at your arm, and you were jogging to keep up with Mammon’s lengthy strides as he seemed to barrel direct for the front door. From your angle you could see the way his eyes thundered like a summer storm, and you were fairly certain that his jaw was grinding as well. Breakfast had, truly, been somewhat of a disaster for him; the red welt on his ear was still visible where Lucifer had nearly laid the him flat, and you winced at the mere thought of the throbbing sensation Mammon must be feeling. “Hey,” you tried, your tone harried due to your pace. “Mammon, please s—”

He growled, dropping your arm and turning to face you, his brows pinching over his nose in a scowl. “Can’t ya just be quiet? You’ve caused enough problems, ya know.”

The huffy words sounded threatening, what with the lick of ire you could feel in the demon’s gaze. “I really didn’t mean to,” you answered quietly.

“Didn’t mean to?” Mammon scoffed, crossing his arms. Clearly he did not believe you. Not that you really suspected he would. “Let’s get somethin’ straight, right here, right now. I didn’t make this pact ’cause I wanted to, and I sure ain’t happy about it!”

“I figured,” you conceded gently, your shoulders rounding and head dipping in submission.

“Everything I did, I did for Goldie, got it?” Mammon pressed further. “If ya end up gettin’ yourself eaten by some demon at RAD, don’t blame me ’cause I don’t give a damn. Ya got that? Don’t make the mistake of thinkin’ you’re all great and stuff just ’cause ya managed to make some stupid pact, human!”

He had drawn himself to his full height, the hawkish angle of his eyes for a moment fitting for a Lord of Hell. Still, the threatening effect he tried to push on you did not stick; your mind was otherwise preoccupied trying to reconcile the fact that Mammon thought you were less of a person than a piece of plastic. “I know I probably don’t mean as much to you as your credit card,” you sighed. “But could you please call me by my name?”

You felt something lock in your chest, like a _click_ that belonged to no organ. Your hand rose, pressing against your heart, a concerned furrow worrying your brow. Mammon, though, did not seem to care what sort of change had come over you.

“Please? Hmph. Startin’ to try and learn some manners, huh? Well, sure! Since ya asked so nicely, why _don’t_ I call ya by your name,” the demon was lilting aggressively, the dripping sarcasm almost tangible. He took a step forward, the golden flecks of his eyes flashing. “C’mon. Did ya really think that was gonna work on me? Idiot.”

The dark tones pressured you to take a step backward on instinct, though your stride was much smaller than Mammon’s, and you had seen first hand his speed. Likely, this was an exercise in futility; whatever distance you added would mean little if push came to shove. Still, you had the _pact,_ right? Surely a demon could not outright turn on the person with whom they had entered an agreement?

Though, maybe it was a special kind of naïve to think that beings of sin incarnate cared anything about rules.

Your heart began to flutter nervously.

“Ya know, ya need to learn your place,” Mammon said next. “Ya expect me, the Great Mammon to call you, a lowly _human_ , by your name? Ha! Last a millennia like one of us, and _maybe_ I’ll consider it. But keep talkin’, and I’ll make ya my next meal--startin’ from the head and workin’ my way down.”

The threat was familiar; in fact it was the same one that he had used on you the very first moment you had met him. In the assembly hall, you had corrected him, thinking him merely an apparition of your own subconscious. Now, though, you did not really want to remind him that starting from your head would simply kill you faster. If he was going to eat you, _‘faster’_ was the way you _wanted_ to go. Still, your breath hitched at the thought regardless. Perhaps you should have stayed up after the pact had been created to ask Leviathan how it was used.

Though, if the purple-haired demon had gone directly upstairs to preorder his Blu-ray set after what happened last night, he probably would not have spared you any time anyway.

Mammon seemed delighted to see you cower beneath his advances, the grin on his face morphing to something as smug as his personality appeared brash. “What’s wrong? Am I _that_ intimidating? Do I _frighten_ you?” He asked.

As if he did not already know the answer.

Fleetingly you wondered if you had misread him yourself, and if he _was_ every bit as horrifying as Lucifer when he wished to be. It was like suddenly, all at once, Mammon absolutely _was_ the second born, and all you could do in answer was nod a stuttered, hurried movement in affirmation.

It pleased him well enough, because his face seemed to relax and fall back into that petulant frown you had begun to count amongst his normal range of expressions. “Then listen, if ya stop talkin’ and just do what I tell ya, things won’t be so bad.”

He reached his hand out to grasp you again, and you jerked your hand out of reach. “Stay back!” You declared.

Once again you felt that strange sensation in your chest, like something around your heart was clicking into place. The small gasp you made was overshadowed by the way Mammon’s body seemed to jolt completely, a bewildered yelp bursting from his lungs. “Wh…? What’s goin’ on? I-I can’t move…”

Your eyes widened, hand pressing to your chest as your own brain finally nestled into realization. “No way,” you whispered to yourself.

“Wh-what’d ya do to me?!” The intimidating air the demon had tried to craft was quickly crumbling. Now the wide eyes and jerky movements Mammon was making as he tried to force his body to move reminded you more of a bewildered toddler than a millennia-old demon. “Is this some kind of magic?!”

“I can’t do magic,” you reminded quietly.

The demon growled, though the sound was not as bone rattling as it could have been; it certainly felt frustrated, though. “Okay, listen up, hu—hu—…” Mammon looked to you, eyes burning in horror as he realized his tongue was no longer following his instructions. “…(Y/N).” He blinked. “ _Dammit_! Don’t tell me this is all ’cause of the _pact_?!”

That was what you had been thinking, at any rate. “I think it might be. I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to use it right now,” you scrambled to assure. In fact, you had not really wanted to use it at _all_ —not unless it was life or death. You had just wanted a defense against being attacked, not a personal demonic slave. Now, though, you were unsure how to _release him_ so he could move again. Was it as simple as giving another order? It was as good of a place to start as any…

Mammon, though, did not allow you to make a single sound. He pointed at you, and the gesture combined with his frown making him look almost comically stubborn. It was such a far cry from the visage he had been wearing before that you felt the last traces of your fear drain free. “Now listen here! Ya may control my body, but not my mind! I’m my _own_ boss, and I always will be! Don’t ya ever forget that, hu—huma—(Y/N)!” You could have sworn you heard him whimper as the proud second born succumbed to the weight of his grief, collapsing onto his knees. “(Y/N).” He blinked, looking up to you as a surge of panic seemed to rise behind his eyes. “You’re gonna let me go, right? Ya ain't gonna leave me here! (Y/N), my boss! No. Your majesty, (Y/N)…!”

A small laugh bubbled up from your chest, though you shook your head and waved your arms to assure you had no intention of leaving him locked in place for any longer. “Mammon, really. I don’t need _titles_ , I just—um. Here, let me try this? Mammon, you can move.”

The little twinge by your heart came back once more; perhaps it was the sign of the pact activating. The minute you had felt it, Mammon leapt to his feet. “Oh, thank god—I mean, thank Diavolo!” The white-haired demon sighed.

“Also, Mammon, you can call me what you want,” you declared, hand hovering over your heart to see if you could feel the release of that _other_ unintentional order. You did, and the relief and joy at the discovery illuminated your face.

Not only were you starting to feel like you might be able to figure out this pact business without a proper guide, but there was the added bonus of allaying your fears that the stitch you had felt at your chest was some kind of heart attack from demonic stress.

“Psh, well _that_ was dumb, human,” Mammon grumbled, casting you a sideways glance.

You shrugged, offering a somewhat meek laugh that somehow reeked of self-deprecation. “I meant what I said, though,” you pressed. “I _didn’t_ mean to use it to force you to do anything. In fact, I wasn’t even sure how to _access_ the pact at all.” You sighed, lifting your eyes to peer up at Mammon’s scrutinizing gaze. “I would be happy if you called me by my name, but I also want that to be your _choice_. I…I want to be friends, Mammon,” you finally declared.

That made the demon’s brow furrow a bit tighter, though he hummed a long, thoughtful sound as he appraised you with a coasting eye. “Pfft. Whatever. C’mon, then. Let’s get to class before we really are late and Lucifer gets to kill both of us.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed. Still, before you could make a single move toward the door, you heard a sound come from nearby that sounded like a small gurgle.

“Dammit,” Mammon hissed, his cheeks tingeing pink as he avoided looking your direction.

…Was that his stomach?

With everything that happened, he really had not had a lot of time to eat, so it made sense.

“Oh! Hold on,” you chirped. At once you were skittering forward, though halted after a few paces to turn around once more. “But like, not in a _pact_ way, so I guess you can leave if you want? I—”

Mammon rolled his eyes. “I get it, okay?”

You grinned, nodding, before setting off once more. You rushed forward to pick up your backpack from where you had set it by the door before breakfast, and your hand shot inside. After a moment of fishing, you were able to pluck out one of the snacks you had been sure to keep on hand for Beelzebub, turning and extending it to Mammon with a smile. “Here! Do you want it?”

It was probably impossible for the avatar to turn it down simply by the nature of his _greed_ , in retrospect. He clicked his tongue, moving forward to grab the crinkly bat-wing bite packaging from your hands. “Do ya even carry books in there? Or are ya like Beel and its all snacks’n stuff?”

“I carry books! Just also a mace, and some snacks for self defense,” you answered. “I figured I could throw them at hungry demons if I needed to buy time to try and escape or something.”

Mammon scoffed, though you felt him eye you in a way he had not done so before, and that beat of silence stretched longer in your mind than the few seconds it actually took. “C’mon, (Y/N). We don’t wanna be late! Otherwise Lucifer will really kick our asses.”

He moved off for the door, the brush of red upon his cheeks quickly moving out of sight; not that you had noticed it. You were far too happy to have heard him use your name. “Coming!” And with that, the two of you left the House of Lamentation. 

* * *

“Thanks for walking with me, Mammon,” you said, offering the white-haired demon a relieved smile as a sea of demons made their way further down the Tower Two hallway.

It felt different arriving to school today; you had somehow managed to sustain Mammon’s company until you were at your Ethics class’ doorway, and there were no Avatars of Jump-Scares, and no demons whispering about eating you before your housemates anywhere to be found! Okay, well, at least not within earshot.

If you had not been under a black, velvety sky and walking by the light of the moon, you may have even ventured to consider the morning _normal_ by school standards, if a bit awkward. Though, given your penchant for attracting the uncomfortable, it could have been argued that it made the experience even _more_ normal for you.

Eyes had followed you both as you moved along the walkways, neither one of you exchanging any words. You could feel Mammon’s irritation rise the more whispers that passed in your wake, though you were unsure what to say in order to avoid making an already tense situation worse. It ended up dropping you in a relentless cycle of waffling between silently chiding yourself for being weird and quiet, and also convincing yourself Mammon would not _really_ want to talk to you anyway. You did, however, make sure to hurry your strides to keep at the demon’s heels so he did not have to bark at you to go faster. Maybe that was enough to start showcasing you wanted to get along—slow, dumb human or not.

Now, though, standing in front of the class, your words of thanks were met with a sigh that clearly translated to annoyance, and a roll of the eyes _just_ in case you had been unable to pinpoint his irritation. Your smile faltered. “Yeah, whatever,” Mammon grumbled, turning. “Don’t get eaten.” And with that last proffered tidbit of wisdom, the demon disappeared down the hall.

It was your turn to sigh, now.

That silent breath parting your lips, you turned and made your way inside. The room was not as full as it had been yesterday, though you figured both leaving early and knowing where you were going—for the most part—had contributed in your prompt arrival. A part of you was relieved; the more demons that were around, the more anxious you felt you _should_ be. However, you were also faintly considering the idea that the fewer around you there were, the more likely you were to be attacked and split amongst them like a spoil of war.

“Seriously? I haven’t checked Devilgram this morning!” A voice, belonging to one of the two demons perched in the sill of one of the ornate, gothic windows reached you as you slid into what you now deemed your seat. Though you tried not to outright listen, the room was otherwise quiet enough to make it impossible to _not_. The fact that you pulled your things from your backpack deliberately trying to minimize sound pollution was merely to make sure you could continue to accidentally eavesdrop. 

“I’m totally serious! And look—there they are!” The other one hissed.

Oh. Great.

You knew _exactly_ what they were talking about.

“You know, I dunno why a demon like _Mammon_ would make a deal with a human like that,” the second voice pressed. Likely, they thought they had lowered their volume enough to hide their words from you, possibly thinking that humans could not hear very well or something. Or, perhaps it was that they did not care if you _did_ know what they were discussing. “That one can’t even do magic, right?”

“That’s what _I_ heard, too,” the other agreed.

You felt a sigh rising up within you, though before you could breathe it into life, a voice, silken and low, hummed behind you. “Whenever you make an important announcement, the demons here couldn’t care less. But gossip and rumors? They really _do_ spread like wildfire.”

You startled, turning around quick enough you knocked your book and notes onto the ground, the slow rain of your papers as the mixed out of order the most frustrating type of storm. There, only a few steps from you was what appeared to be a young man, though his bearing was formal in a way that made him in fact _feel_ much older. Not that he was a _man_ anyway, you reasoned; you had, after all, met the only other human on campus, and this was certainly not Solomon. His hair was almost green-veined, the black mixing with it until the color looked like it was made from the shadows of the deep-sea; the bright, vivid teal patch of hair above his right ear seemingly adding to the illusion.

And he was not alone.

Your eyes swept over to the two other figures with him. One you recognized as Lord Diavolo; that red uniform was near burned into your memory from when you had appeared in the assembly hall those days ago, though he seemed taller than you recalled. Not that you had _really_ been paying attention to those details at the time because you had been otherwise overwhelmed, but somehow realizing that he was almost as big, if not _bigger_ than, Beelzebub was its own brand of unsettling.

It was a good thing he was _smiling_.

And beside Diavolo was the dark-haired, red-eyed demon you had seen at breakfast every morning. You felt that familiar shiver crawl the length of your spine when Lucifer smiled to you as if winter rode his lips.

The stranger’s face, fair as it was, scrunched in a small frown. “Just when I thought the uproar about the new human exchange student had started to subside some.”

First of all, it had only been _four days_. Did demons really have the attention span of a goldfish? Or was this particular demon just so above such idle fancies that he did not understand how gossip worked? You would not have been entirely surprised if the latter was the case; his uniform looked starched, like the type of individual you could find in a movie who was allergic to fun.

“Come now, don’t say that,” Diavolo hummed blithely, crossing his arms over his chest as he cast a familiar, large grin to whomever this stranger was. “ _I’d_ actually say that all this gossip is a good thing! It means everyone will be watching this human, so it’ll be hard for any demon to go after (Y/N)’s soul when no one is looking.”

Lucifer hummed a low agreement, sighing as he shook his head. “Yes. Since Mammon’s not doing a very good job as a guardian…” He began, letting the rest of his sentence sit unfinished, though perhaps felt nonetheless. His disappointment was palpable, as noticeable as a neon sign in the dark. “I told him to look after (Y/N), but he’s off somewhere shirking his responsibilities, it seems. Though, I figured this would happen.”

“Mammon walked me to class,” you interjected helpfully, offering a small, polite smile to assuage the clear disdain and discontent you could read in Lucfier’s tone.

Lucifer offered what could have been a dark laugh, though came out as more of a scoff. “And yet he isn’t here,” he drawled.

“I’m sure he just needed to get to class,” you mumbled with a small shrug, though you felt cowed beneath the reddish eyes before you.

“My idiot of a brother is in _this_ class, (Y/N),” Lucifer stated simply.

Your mouth floundered open. “You mean the class right now?!”

Lucifer’s only answer was stone-faced silence.

So yesterday when you lamented not having one of the demons you lived with in the same class as you, _you were actually supposed to have one_? Somehow, though, the vision of Mammon as a chronic class-skipper sort of fit your image of him.

Diavolo, however, seemed neither surprised nor worried by the fact Mammon was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he turned those golden, hawkish eyes to you. “I must say, though, I can’t believe you managed to form a pact with Mammon. It really is no small feat, no matter what some may say. And in such a short time!” His amusement danced in his eyes like candle flames.

“I suppose it stands as proof that you chose well bringing this human here, Lord Diavolo,” the stranger-demon hummed, his own polished smile as bewitching as it was unnerving. It prompted a somewhat familiar response from you, the feeling that snaked down your limbs akin to how you had reacted so far to Lucifer; it was as if this demon’s expressions did not match his deepest inner heart, either.

“I’m sorry, sir, but…I don’t believe we’ve met,” you said to him. He knew you, it seemed, and though you were not surprised your reputation had preceded you in some ways, you desperately wanted to keep the playing field here as even as possible.

“Ah yes, pardon me,” the demon said. “My name is Barbatos. I apologize for not introducing myself earlier.”

“Ah, no, it’s all right,” you reassured quickly. “It’s nice to meet you, Barbatos, sir.”

That statement widened the elegant spread of his lips, and you could see a small flare in his deep, kelp-colored eyes that you thought looked like the echoes of laughter. “Just Barbatos is fine, please. I have the honor of serving as Steward to Lord Diavolo, so I believe the pleasure in this exchange is all mine, (Y/N).”

Yeah, there was definitely something about this particular demon that seemed to run deeper than his appearance, and the thought sent another shudder through your skin.

“Barbatos here is a smart and talented individual, unlike some demons we both know who cut their classes,” Lucifer interjected for your benefit. “To give you an idea, I wish I could trade that certain idiot brother of mine for Barbatos instead.”

“In the human world there's a saying, Lucifer,” Barbatos interjected, the almost mischievous gleam of his eyes falling upon the taller, dark-haired demon without hesitation or fear. “A truly wise man does not flaunt his talents, he keeps them secret.”

Lucifer’s lips twitched. “Yet an incompetent fool doesn’t have any talents to begin with,” he offered in return.

Actually, their tones were almost identical. Perhaps that was just the sort of personality Diavolo liked to surround himself with. Or, maybe it was the personality type he _needed_ , considering he still appeared more like a soup kitchen director instead of Hell’s—well, the _Devildom’s_ —big boss to you. Especially when he laughed, golden eyes dancing, like now. “Well, _I’ve_ heard it said that the most thick-headed child is always the cutest,” the prince chimed. Somehow he managed to wink without actually winking, and you could not tell if it was the lilt he had used or if it was some kind of trick of the lighting.

Lucifer’s nose crinkled somewhat. “…Stop it, Diavolo,” he declared, apparently comfortable enough in the prince’s presence to drop the _‘Lord’_ business outright, even in front of a partially full classroom. It was, truly, not something you had expected. “Having Mammon as my brother is troublesome enough. But my child? _Him_? …I don’t even want to think about it.”

Yeah, you did not really want to imagine having a son exactly like him yourself.

But did demons _have_ kids?

That was a question to file away for a different time.

“Ah, but I notice you didn’t deny the part about him being cute,” a voice, musical as wind chimes and somehow bringing to mind endless blue skies, wafted from your side. You turned, seeing first your book and notes gathered and held by lithe hands before trailing your eyes up toned, mocha-skinned arms to one of the most breathtaking faces you had ever seen in your life. “If I may offer my own opinion, out of you seven brothers, _you’re_ without a doubt the most troublesome, Lucifer.” The smile that bloomed on this man’s face was both as delicate as a rose and _exactly_ what romance novelists would describe as _‘princely’_.

Was he a student? He certainly was not in uniform, and you honestly could not imagine calling this man a demon. If anything he was an angel—hand crafted by divine hands, with an aura that matched pleasant spring mornings. The white of his outfit contrasted with his dark skin and hair and seemed to illuminate the pale blue of his gaze. Though, as jealous as he would have been able to make models back home, you were absolutely certain that his beauty was not merely skin deep; perhaps it was because just the act of looking on him seemed to coax you to relax.

You were staring. A part of you knew that, though it could not seem to school the other half of you soundly enough to get your eyes to _move_. Whoever this stranger was, however, seemed to take no offense; he merely chuckled and extending your things toward you properly. It was instinct more than anything else that had you take your textbook and notes back into hand, though the mumbled _“thank you”_ you tried to offer was absolutely unintelligible since your brain was rather unfocused.

Lucifer marked this newcomer with that same cool face he offered everyone else. “Is that meant to be a compliment, Simeon?”

Simeon’s eyes danced, though before he could offer an answer, another, smaller voice chimed up from his side. “Of course not! Duh! It was an insult! A put-down! He’s _taunting_ you!”

Well, maybe this answered the question on whether supernatural beings had children.

You had not even noticed that smaller figure standing at Simeon's side.

You also had not realized they _allowed_ such early enrollment in RAD, though you were more surprised by the defiant blaze in this young being’s eyes. For a demon, he certainly did not seem to respect the chain of command in the Devildom. Though, you had to hand it to the kid—even when Lucifer shifted his attention to him, those garnet eyes keen and heavy, he did not even flinch.

Apparently, this blond was braver than you.

Lucifer gave a small snort. “Ah, I see you’ve brought your _Chihuahua_ along with you.”

Was that a smile you saw ghosting in Lucifer’s eyes? Like, a proper, real one? If it was, it was gone before you could verify its existence—perhaps in part because the young child was quick to frown, though you could not necessarily rule out the fact that Lucifer might have noticed you caught sight of it either. “I am NOT a Chihuahua! How many times do I have to tell you that, demon?”

Now _you_ were frowning. He used the word _'demon'_ as if he was not one.

Lucifer tilted his head, and you mused it was about as close as he would ever get to bending down. “Come now, stop your barking. Sit, boy! Shake!”

The coil of the grin on Lucifer’s face was absolutely the most merciless form of the expression you had ever seen. That, coupled with the dark, glittering enjoyment in his gaze, caused a cold shiver to prickle your spine.

The not-demon-Chihuahua’s cheeks puffed, turning red with either anger, embarrassment, or a combination of the two—honestly, you could not say for certain. “Quit it! Don’t you make fun of me!” His petulant tone seemed to paint him as young as his appearance did, though the flash of his eyes was something you had never seen in a child before. Perhaps he was not as young as you might have assumed. “And don’t tell me to shake! I’m not a dog!”

The small, velvety chuckle that sneaked from Lucifer’s lips told you he did not care one way or the other in regards to what the blond did or did not want; though, if anyone was going to feel justified in acting just the way they wished, it was likely going to be an Avatar of Pride. His eyes slid from the smaller figure and rose to meet the pale, sky-blue gaze of the taller newcomer again. “You really should keep him on a leash,” Lucifer purred.

Simeon offered a graceful smile of his own that put customer service people to shame, in part because his patience did not feel forced in any way. “As I said, Lucifer,” he hummed. “You are undoubtedly the most troublesome of your brothers.”

Diavolo chuckled. “(Y/N), allow me to introduce you,” he hummed. “This is Simeon. He’s part of the exchange program as well.”

You had already met Solomon; and since there were only two humans, then…

Your eyes widened, and your face began to bloom in awe even before Diavolo finished his thought.

“He is one of the representatives of the Celestial Realm. That is to say—he is an _angel_ ,” the prince’s golden eyes danced merrily, perhaps finding your gobsmacked expression humorous. You wondered fleetingly if he could see your mind reveling in the realization that when you had observed Simeon looked like he was crafted by divine hands— _you had been one hundred percent right._

If Simeon himself noticed your wonderment, however, it did not faze him. Instead, he turned his lovely eyes to you, smiling as bright as the sunshine you had begun to miss since coming to the Devildom. “Hello, (Y/N),” he greeted.

Had your name ever sounded so musical?

Nope. Never.

“It’s a pleasure to meet one of the flock here.”

Your cheeks tinged pink, unsure _why_ being called _‘one of the flock’_ sent your heart racing so rapidly. “I’m pretty sure the pleasure is mine, Simeon, sir,” you countered quietly.

Simeon laughed, the sound instilling the same beauty and reverence into the air as the ringing bells of a cathedral. “Please, just Simeon. We’re both students here, after all.”

Diavolo crossed his arms, gesturing toward the small blond boy with his head. “And this here is Luke. He’s a…Chihuahua, was it? Or are you an angel?”

The small blond’s eyes went as round as saucers, the red of his embarrassment and anger you had spotted before coming back in an even heavier shade as his brow bent over his button nose. “Wh..? You’re getting in on the act too, Diavolo?! Of course I’m not a Chihuahua! I’m obviously an angel!”

Even if Lucifer’s teasing could be considered borderline sinister, you at _least_ could give him credit for being overt in his efforts to rile Luke up; Diavolo played it off so well that if the subject matter had not been, _‘well, are you a divine messenger or a tremble-y rat-dog?’_ you might have actually considered that he was honestly confused. Now you found yourself wondering how much of what you had seen of Diavolo’s smile and laughter had been a façade.

Though, perhaps if you thought the future ruler of the Devildom looked like he belonged in a soup kitchen, it was probably safe to say, ‘ _most of it’_.

Before that thought had long to live within your mind, though, Luke was looking at you. “Listen up! As you can probably tell, I’m a low-ranking angel. But! I’ll have you know that in the Celestial Realm I report directly to Michael the Archangel himself as—”

“Luke,” Simeon interrupted seamlessly, a small furrow wrinkling his brow beneath his chocolate bangs. “Calm down. There’s no need to make such a huge fuss over teasing.”

Even as the boy—well, young-looking angel—pouted to who you were beginning to consider akin to his superior officer, Lucifer smiled to him. “He’s right, you know. That’s why people call you a Chihuahua.”

And, like a hedgehog bristling when bothered, you could near see Luke curl and puff as he glared upward to the dark-haired demon anew. Perhaps his bravery in regards to Lucifer made a bit more sense now; if he _did_ report directly to Michael, there would likely be…well, _hell to pay_ if something happened to him while at RAD. Though, how much of a power gap _was there_ between the Archangel and the Avatar of Pride? After all, the Bible said Lucifer had been the most glorious angel in Heaven. Not Michael.

“Normally the only person who calls me a Chihuahua is _you_ , Lucifer! I’m an _angel_!”

Not that Luke’s cry elicited any satisfying response for him; you could hear that throaty, velveteen chuckle spilling from Lucifer’s lips again even before the blond had finished his declaration.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Luke,” you interjected, hoping to drain some of his perceived hostility from the air with cordial respect. If the angel looked this young, even as a timeless being, he likely spent most of his energy making sure he was taken seriously; the least you could do was offer that to him freely.

Immediately Luke gasped and looked at you, wide, blue eyes blinking as if he had forgotten you were there at all. Whether your words had been offensive or just the brush of kindness the angel needed, though, you could not say.

Barbatos lifted his wrist, checking the black and gold face of the watch that glinted in the hanging candlelight. “It’s nearly time for the first bell to sound.”

“Yes, you’re right. I apologize for any trouble we caused, (Y/N),” Simeon offered.

For the life of you, you could not figure out what trouble Simeon felt they could have brought. “No, it’s fine—I’m sorry for taking up your time. You probably needed to speak with Lord Diavolo, right?”

Simeon laughed, waving a hand in dismissal. “I was looking for him, yes, but you caused no trouble. I can speak to him later, and it was good to finally meet the last exchange student.”

“I can talk now, Simeon, if that works well enough,” Diavolo offered. “I just wanted to drop in and see for myself how (Y/N) was adjusting. I’m relieved to see things seem to be going very well!”

The demon prince and the angel bid their respective farewells and began to move toward the door as a conversation began to flit between them, Barbatos beginning to follow as if tethered. Lucifer paused long enough to smile to you. “(Y/N), do look after Mammon for me, would you?”

You could hear Barbatos’ question float back toward the two of you as he neared the door. “Isn’t Mammon the one who was supposed to look after _them_?”

Lucifer did not even spare the other demon a glance, slipping out into the hallway as poised as ever. “That’s how I recall it, myself. Your point?”

And with that, they disappeared.

Well, all save for one.

When you turned to sit back into your seat, trying to ignore the weight of the gazes from the other students who had not failed to notice your conversation with the Devildom’s elite, you found a crisp white hat, shimmering flaxen hair, and large blue eyes frowning up at you. You managed to stop yourself from tripping over the remaining angel, the small gasp and the tightening of your arms around the things Simeon had handed back to you the only sign of your startle.

“Luke! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were there,” you gasped. His fists clenched, and you wondered if you had somehow insulted him. Your heart began to race. “I mean—” Somehow you doubted saying, _‘I didn’t see you!’_ was going to go over well.

“Never trust addition,” you could have sworn Luke mumbled to you.

You blinked, replaying his low words to yourself a few times over. Not that you had ever been fond of math, but somehow you doubted that was what this was about. “I’m…sorry, I don’t think I quite caught what you said,” you explained, instinctively bending to give your ear a better vantage for soft voices. “Could you repeat that?”

“Hey!” Luke chirped, ruffling like an angry fledgling. “Don’t lean in like I’m some kind of child! I’m not a kid.”

“O-of course you’re not a kid,” you assured. Somehow you doubted _any_ angel you met was going to be younger than you were, after all. “But…unless you were trying to warn me about math, I didn’t hear what you said.” You offered a sheepish smile and a gentle shrug to showcase your shame.

“Math?! No!” Luke grunted, brow pinching further. For a moment he was quiet, and he glanced about the room as if making sure that eyes were the only things intruding upon you both. Now _he_ was the one leaning, though only a few inches. Perhaps he realized what he was doing halfway through and decided to halt it before he gave the impression he had to be closer to be heard. “…Never trust a demon.”

The words were like an icy wind, and you pulled back a bit in response. Perhaps that was something you would have expected from an angel, though the tone was so different than anything you had heard from Luke so far, it was unsettling to say the least.

“ _Especially_ if that demon is Lucifer,” the blond added.

If what you knew of Lucifer’s fall was true, you could understand why an angel like Luke, who clearly took great pride in serving Heaven, would think so. “That seems like good advice,” you admitted with a wry quirk of your lips. Not that you could get away from the Devildom, but trusting demons probably was not the wisest thing for you to do either, and Lucifer was nothing if not frightening.

“No, listen to me,” Luke urged. “He’s a monster. A brute. He’s uncivilized, immoral, and…and also…” the small angel began, though petered to quiet when his wellspring of words seemed to have run dry.

While you could not _quite_ agree that Lucifer was uncivilized—that demon had sported princely etiquette each and every time you had seen him—you felt as if you garnered what Luke was trying to say regardless. “A sadist?” You prompted quietly.

“Yes! Exactly!” Luke brightened, giving you a firm nod. “He’s the most sadistic of sadists! …I was against this from the beginning. What are they thinking, bringing humans to the Devildom as exchange students…?” His lips pinched in frustration, and his eyes swam with something you thought you could recognize as worry, but his question went unanswered by all but the loud, irritating bell that signaled class was soon to begin. A wave of demons began to pour in from the doorway, and Luke blinked and made a step toward the door. “Well, you get what I’m saying, right? Be careful.”

You hardly had time to even register the faint heartened feeling that swelled inside you at Luke’s obvious concern before the angel disappeared back into the hall himself. “Be careful,” you mumbled to yourself in repeat, sinking into your chair. It was not that you had not been _trying_ to be careful, but you were outclassed in power by absolutely every person you met.

As the teacher came in, the faint screech of his black coffee more herald of his coming than his footsteps, you found yourself wondering just how long your luck would be able to hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, my Lambs! 
> 
> Here is chapter nine. =D Sorry it took a bit. Work got super crazy this week and I had to devote SOME time to my other fic. Hahaha. 
> 
> By the way, if anyone hates Luke, they're wrong. He's baby. xD 
> 
> <3 Enjoy! As always, let me know what you think.


	10. A Living Horror Movie Trope

Night had fallen over the Devildom, though unlike what you were used to back home, there had been no sunset equivalent to herald the time change beyond the windows. The same lights as always shone against the darkness further into town, and the streets by the House of Lamentation were just as barren as ever since no foot traffic needed to come out this far; there was only the faint dimming of the luminescent plants in the garden outside and a slight thickening of the velvety blackness overhead to let you know there had been any change over the land at all.

Though, even _that_ was possibly your imagination at this point; you were positive this place was more surreal than any art museum back on Earth.

Even as you sat in the observatory, huddled onto the couch as the blinking stars and bright moon peered down at you through the glass roof, you could not properly judge just how long you had been sitting and trying to read. You pried your eyes away from the sea of print, looking now to the D.D.D. perched on the arm of the sofa. A quick tap to the home screen button, and immediately the face of the phone blinked on, showcasing the current local time: roughly eight thirty.

You hummed in frustration, looking back to the open textbook on your lap as the words began to once more swim in your vision. You had been at this for at least two hours now, and it felt like you had made no progress through the chapter at all; you did not quite remember college reading material being this overwhelming, though you also had never imagined any book would be trying to teach you history like _this_. It covered things that you were pretty sure scientists and theologians alike would have debated, _‘ooh’_ -ed, and _‘ahh’_ -ed over for _years_ had they the means to come across this information by themselves. You, though, felt like you were trying to herd cats inside for a bath as you tried to make your brain comprehend anything you were reading.

You _had_ been curious what _‘Pre-Time History’_ was going to be like when you first had seen it on your schedule; apparently, it was a giant pit of amorphous knowledge you were positive would show up on tests, but had absolutely no dates attached to help a feeble mortal mind parse it out.

Actually, the chapter had made a point of mentioning that time, even the concept of day and night, had not been invented yet when these events took place—so maybe this was essentially all taking place in one long, terribly busy day?

You frowned at yourself in frustration, once more restarting the paragraph, as if trying a tenth time was going to suddenly make it click.

What was the definition of insanity, again? Trying the same thing over and over again, hoping for different results?

“(Y/N),” a low, familiar voice wafted through the quiet room. You looked up, immediately dropping your legs from the couch cushions as if having them up and being comfortable was a cardinal sin; the polished, suited figure that stood across the room was none other than the Avatar of Pride himself, and your heartbeat hammered just a shade louder the minute your eyes connected with his.

What did he need?

Had you done something wrong?

The thoughts zipped through your mind like a streaking meteor, though you sought to keep such evidences from your face. After all, you had a suspicion that Lucifer was likely one of those types of people who could smell fear, and with him being a demon it seemed obvious that he would understand just how to capitalize on it.

…Not that it was very likely Lucifer would not know you were quaking down to your marrow regardless, but it felt better than being obvious about it.

You schooled your lips into a smile, the motion dry and devoid of most pleasantness for the anxiety the pooled inside you. “Lucifer,” you greeted. “…Is everything all right?” The demon cracked a small smile, perhaps because he could see through the faded veneer of the question to spy its true and proper form beneath: ‘ _Did I do something wrong_?’

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” the black-haired demon assured, taking a few more strides into the observatory, the click of his heels heavy and direct over the flooring. “Are you studying?”

“Trying to, anyway,” you admitted, fingers coiling around the edges of your textbook; your eyes, though, did not leave Lucifer for a moment, not even when he halted a few strides in front of you and it felt like it was too much to keep staring. “Pre-Time History has a lot to cover,” you added quietly.

You had thought some _mortal_ history classes had covered a lot. This? It was almost a joke.

Lucifer’s eyes dropped to scan the book in your lap, and though his perfect face remained mostly impassive, you were fairly certain you had noted a small twitch of his lip. “Ah,” he hummed. “I suppose humans don’t usually cover those periods.”

Well, that was actually an understatement; even the _Bible_ glazed over the creation story, and it certainly did not speak on any of the time _before_ even light and darkness were made! Though, even if it had, the chances were that none of this would have been studied regardless; most humans would not even believe you were sitting in the realm of demons _right now_ , and you could not study what you did not think existed.

Well, not _really_ study it, anyway.

Still, saying, _‘most people would consider this stuff to be fake,’_ to one of the Lords of Hell’s faces seemed like an unwise move overall. So, instead, you opted to shrug mildly and keep your thoughts on the matter to yourself. “I’ve got a lot to learn,” you hummed. That, at least, was honest.

“Well, if you have any questions,” Lucifer continued, that cool gaze lifting once more from the book to settle on you. “Don’t hesitate to utilize the resources around you. A lot of the demons here were there for at least some of those events, and _some_ even bore witness to everything.”

Perhaps that should have occurred to you, though to hear it so plainly from the eldest’s lips felt like running headlong into a wall regardless. Of _course_ the seemingly timeless beings that shared the Devildom with you, the powerful, archaic entities that could do things you could never dream of, had been around for a lot. “I guess that makes this class easy for them,” you mumbled, looking back to the scape of words on the open page, wondering what it would have been like to see so many years. You could not rightly imagine it, you figured; especially when the chapter you had plowed through so far essentially felt like nonsense to you at this point.

“You _would_ think it would help,” Lucifer answered with a small smirk. “But some of those demons still manage to fail.”

That did not make you feel like you stood much of a chance at passing, then. Though, in the scheme of things, was the GPA you acquired in the realm of demons going to have anything to do with your human life when you were finally able to go back home?

Probably not.

Was the time spent here _trying_ to study and stay alive going to extend your therapy sessions or get you locked away in a psych ward?

 _Absolutely_.

Perspective.

“I’ll keep studying,” you assured. It was, perhaps, the only thing you could say. You were not one to slack off when it came to school, really—you never had been. And thinking about starting now when your life very well could be on the line? Not really on your to-do list. Still, utilizing the resources around you meant actively seeking out conversations with beings that were not only ancient, but powerful; how many would be cross at being disturbed by a lowly, magic-less human?

Fleetingly you wondered if Mammon would be of any help. If he was the second oldest demon brother, _maybe_ he had been around for a lot of this stuff. That thought died quickly, though, when you considered what you had observed of his schooling habits.

“Lord Diavolo will be pleased to hear it,” Lucifer assured, that detached smile slinking once more over his features. “You’ve had two full days at RAD now. I wanted to know how things were going. Mainly, is there anything you feel you still need for your time here?”

Anything you _needed_? The only thing you could think of was a trip back to the safety of your _real_ home, though you figured that was not going to be something the Avatar of Pride would be willing to give. “Nope, can’t really think of anything,” you claimed. Honestly, you doubted you could lie well enough to fool a demon of such standing and renown, but if Lucifer realized your fib, he decided not to press the matter.

“Well, that’s good news,” he offered. “It means we prepared for you well enough. Still, should you change your mind and think of something,” he paused a moment to tilt his head toward you, as if he were trying to make himself approachable or something. “Please don’t hesitate to ask. Lord Diavolo and I want nothing more than to see you comfortable here, (Y/N).” His smile was silken, and the suave air he exuded was enough to make you certain you understood just how people could be taken in by sin and monsters.

_“Never trust a demon. Especially if that demon is Lucifer.”_

Luke’s words flit back through your mind, and they echoed loudly enough to stiffen your spine and break whatever spell Lucifer’s actions had been trying to weave for you. You blinked, and the small rush of your breath was quiet; perhaps Lucifer did not note your momentary fluster at all. “Yeah, of course. Thank you, sir,” you tried to smile.

“Hmm,” he hummed as his carnelian eyes studied you, his gaze a weight you were not overly comfortable with.

Perhaps he _had_ very well noted your fluster, or perhaps he could smell the unease the angel’s words had settled in the pit of your stomach like a wolf could sniff out his prey.

If he had, the beast did not attack. Instead, the demon pulled a smile to his face once more. “Then I will leave you to your studying. Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Goodnight,” you parroted back, dropping your eyes back toward your textbook as if to hide. Still, even as you tried to bury yourself back into reading the same paragraphs yet again, you felt Lucifer linger for a moment on the outskirt of the room. It seemed ages before he finally turned, making his way out of the observatory and toward the hallway once more. You had not noticed you were not breathing until the echo of his footsteps disappeared completely.

Just a few more attempts at this chapter before bed, you told yourself. Though, perhaps you never stood a chance; after Lucifer’s odd probing, and the small angel’s words of warning returning to mind, there was not a single cell left in your brain left to devote to rereading about the first council of archangels. 

* * *

It was a little before midnight when your eyes fluttered open to fight against the dark, and at first you could not figure out _why_ you had woken up at all. It was not like you were well rested after a few hours, and this time you had not had a nightmare—well, not that you could recall anyway. Your heart was not beating any faster than normal, though, so even if there had been some kind of dream involved, it had not spooked you enough to trick your body into rising.

Maybe sleep in the Devildom was hard simply because you were not in your own bed; it was, essentially, a constant state of trying to force yourself to sleep in a hotel room equivalent, and strange beds had never been easy for you. Normally exhaustion would win out on any trips you took and you would succumb to the call of your pillow eventually—but here, in the dark, you felt surrounded by danger.

You sighed, trying to spur the growing thought of threat from your mind. There was no use thinking on it, really; you did not really have the means to fight back if that became a necessity. A small grunt, and you forced yourself to roll over, repositioning the sheets higher over your shoulder. The new wave of warmth and security the blankets gave you helped to lull you, and you could feel your blinking growing longer. Heavier.

_“-elp.”_

It was little more than an unintelligible whisper, but it was just loud enough that the eyes you had been trying to coax back to sleep immediately popped right open again. “Hello?” You called out into the darkness, suddenly afraid to turn to look around the room.

There was no answer, and you could not tell how you were supposed to feel about that. This was a horror movie trope: stupid protagonist calls out into the darkness, though has no plan for the event they hear a reply _and_ is conned into complacency by the absence of one.

Had you always been dumb, or was this a Devildom effect?

 _“Help me,”_ the breathy whisper came again, and you felt an army of goosebumps march down your arms as you shot upward, wheeling to glare around the shadows.

As your mind tried to wrap and then re-wrap around what you had heard, you could not seem to decide if the voice was whispering because they were right-at-your-ear near, or if it just sounded like a sigh because it was coming from far away.

Like maybe the afterlife?

You had been certain this place was totally haunted, after all, and going around asking for help seemed like a thing a tortured soul might do around the witching hour.

With stiff movements, you climbed from bed, near sprinting toward the door to swing it open and see if there was some kind a monster beyond. It was not like you had a plan if there _were_ , but maybe if you screamed for Mammon loud enough, he would have to come save you. A ghost should not be a problem for a demon, right? You had not really been able to make up your mind on that so far during your stay, but surely…

Nothing met your eyes but the dim hallway, however, and it seemed empty save for the sound of your own hammering heart.

Well, and the sound of rummaging in the kitchen. Your heart skipped, and you inched toward the archway, eyes darting through the shadows on high alert. “Beel?” You half called, half-prayed into the room, the yellow light of the lamps glowing within spilling into the rest of the darkened house. “Is that you in there?” You poked your head around the corner.

Immediately you saw him, and the tall, redheaded figure before the open cabinets looked your direction. However, the smile he wore did not seem to match the expression of anyone who would have been whispering for help, and you felt your stomach knot uneasily despite his generally affable demeanor. “(Y/N),” he rumbled happily. “Do you have any food on you?”

Your eyes flickered past him, then around the otherwise empty room, looking for any sign he was not alone. You were pleased to find he was without ghostly company, though with such an observation made, you began to wonder just where the voice you had heard had come from. “I…have some fried batwing chips in my backpack. Want them?”

His eyes gleamed as he nodded, and you could have sworn you saw a bit of drool pooling at the corner of his lips. “Thanks,” he declared.

You forced a lopsided grin for him. “No problem,” you murmured. “I’ll be right back, then.”

Maybe you _had_ heard Beel, you reasoned as you padded your way back toward your room. Sure he had been smiling, and the voice had been asking for assistance—but maybe he had merely wanted more food, and he was smiling because you had answered.

Still, as your rummaged through your bag, plucking out the promised snack for the demon in question, you could not bring yourself to be convinced by such musings. It was not like a behemoth like Beelzebub was going to be whispering for help while in the kitchen of all places—in the few days you had been sharing a house with him, you knew Beel was not shy when it came to rummaging through other people’s things for edibles. He did not have to creepily ask for snacks in the middle of the night to get what he wanted.

 _Maybe_ the whisper had come from one of the snacks he had been eating?

There was food in the Devildom that moved, why not food in the Devildom that spoke, too?

Still, that did not seem to fully resonate with you either, and you frowned. After all, Beelzebub cleaned cabinets the way some people cleaned _plates_ —it was thorough, and over before anything would have time to ask for aid.

Once you had the batwing chips in hand, you were near jogging back toward the light of the kitchen as if to escape something sinister lurking in the darkness. It worked well enough, because you skidded into the golden-hued room without so much as seeing another entity—demonic, monstrous, or otherwise.

Beel stepped forward, happily locking his large fingers onto the top of the bag. The crinkle of the plastic as he pulled it open was louder than what should have been allowed for midnight, though he seemed to not care as he dug a hand inside. His hunger for the moment on its way to being satiated, he turned now to frown at you. “What’re you doing up?” He asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” you admitted dryly.

You paused, shuffling your weight from foot to foot as you glanced back out toward the hall, vaguely aware that the demon was watching you curiously. Perhaps that answer _had_ been a little strange, though you were unsure how much of your own unease you wanted to openly share with the demons of the Devildom. Still, if you kept your mouth shut and ended up being dragged off by some monster, that was going to end up being one hell of an _‘if only’_. In fact, it would probably be entitled ‘ _if only I’d brought this up with some of the most powerful beings in the realm of demons, maybe I wouldn’t have died’._

It was a long and terrible title, so it was probably best to avoid it.

“Hey, Beel?” Behind you, you could hear him crunching down on his snack, though you doubted that meant he was not paying attention since you could still feel the weight of his staring on the back of your neck. “Did you…hear anything a minute ago?”

“You mean when you asked if I was in the kitchen?” He inquired, the sound of his words somewhat misshapen, what with the fried batwing still being worked between his teeth.

“No,” you clarified. Your brow furrowed as you turned back toward the demon, and you could tell by the way his amethyst eyes were scouring your cheeks he had noticed the slightly pallid sheen that had fallen over your skin. “I mean…I could’ve sworn I heard someone asking for help. You…didn’t hear that?”

Beelzebub’s brow lifted, though otherwise his face seemed somewhat stoic. He swallowed, lifting a hand to brush some crumbs from the corner of his lips. “It must’ve been a dream,” the redhead assured you. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Oh.” You wanted to protest that you had been awake when you had heard it, though perhaps outright arguing with a demon was not the best way to go about, well, anything. You kneaded your lips together, glancing toward the hall once more, as if an apparition was sure to have appeared there in the time your attention was away. Beside you, Beelzebub looked himself, though he saw just as much empty air as you did. “…Okay then, I have another question,” you hummed quietly. “And please don’t laugh at me.” You paused, drawing a breath. “Is…the House of Lamentation haunted?”

When you turned to spy Beelzebub’s face he was frowning, though it did not really come across as _angry_. In fact, if anything, he sort of looked concerned; maybe, you found yourself musing wryly, he was watching your psyche fracture live before his very eyes. “No,” he declared, the response easy and quick; it was enough that you _almost_ believed him. Still, maybe it was Luke’s warning about trust in the Devildom, or maybe it was the fact that you were positive you had heard something beyond any break in your psychosis that kept the niggling in your ear to steer clear from blind acceptance.

“Well, that’s good news, I guess,” you tried to dismiss; there was something about the weight of his study that made you feel like you were being laid too bare, and you were eager to make a quick retreat. “You’re right, though. It must’ve been a dream! It’s been a weird week, I guess.” _That_ was an understatement if ever there was one. “Anyway…enjoy your food.”

You gave him a weak smile as you turned to make your way out once again, though truthfully you were not sure if you were even up to holing up back in your room. Whatever you had heard had been in there, right? Still, the thought of staying in the kitchen with Beelzebub did not seem to feel doable either, especially if he was going to suffocate you with his eyes like he had been…

Well, not _had been;_ he was _still_ staring at you like you were some kind of crazy person.

_“Help.”_

You heard it again, like a moan of wind through doorjambs; soft, miserable. You froze at once, gasping as you squeaked. Well, there went the snack idea, because Beel had definitely already cleaned out the cabinets, and fried batwing had never whispered before. And it certainly had not been Beel, because it had not come from his direction. Whatever it was, though, had not come from your room either. The hair on the back of your neck prickled up like a hedgehog’s spines, and you backpedaled a pace before your mind could even coalesce a single thought.

“Hey.” You felt Beelzebub stride forward, closing the small distance between you before you could even turn to look at him. “Are you getting sick?” He asked, the tilt of his lips and pinch of his brow seemingly earnest as he leaned down to peer into your eyes in study.

Your body jolted at his proximity. “N-no, I’m fine,” you promised. “Wait, does that mean you didn’t _hear_ that?” You breathed, your pale face somewhat stricken.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Beelzebub rumbled in response, brow tightening over his nose.

Well, maybe the reason Beel was looking at you like you were going crazy was because you _were_ going crazy. From this close, you did not think he could _lie_ to you about hearing a voice or not without some sort of visible tell, and you knew he was not deaf.

“…Maybe you need to eat more,” Beelzebub finally offered, straightening back up to his full height.

“Oh, no, really—” You began to protest.

“Lucifer’s in charge of breakfast tomorrow, so it’s going to be good,” Beel promised. “You should eat more. You are what you eat. You know what that means, right?”

You blinked. “I know what it means to humans, yeah,” you murmured. Somehow, you did not think it was wise to make the assumption it meant the same thing here. Though, if it was more literal here, given that Devildom cuisine had been a nightmare so far, it should have been no surprise that you were starting to come apart at the seams.

“Humans don’t eat the right foods to make them strong,” Beel grunted matter-of-factly.

Considering you had learned his one true love was cheeseburgers, you were not entirely sure he meant this in a _‘greasy, fatty foods are bad’_ sort of way. “I’ll…keep it in mind,” you managed. 

“Humans need a lot of sleep, too,” the redhead pressed.

There was no mistaking the underlying suggestion in his words, either. “Y-yeah. You’re right,” you conceded, taking a small step toward the doorway once again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Goodnight, Beel!”

You did not linger long enough to know if he said anything in return or not, and without a backward glance you scurried into the dim hallway, heading for your room on rote instinct. Still, as your fingers hovered over the golden knob, the voice returned again.

_“Someone can hear me, right? I said I need help.”_

Your whole body seemed to stiffen, and you glanced over your shoulder and down the dark hallway once more. Was it because you were in the hall that you felt like the voice suddenly had a point of origin? Because you could almost make it out this time—like it was coming from the entry hall. Or, maybe, spilling down from the second story…?

There was something almost _human_ about the plea, and your jaw ground against itself as you weighed your options. The first one was, of course, to step right back into your room, find some assortment of music on that DevilTube app you had discovered recently on your phone, and try to sleep through any more disturbance by pretending it did not exist. The other, though, entreated to your pesky desire to assist anyone who needed it: follow the whisper through the House of Lamentation and see if you could get to the bottom of just what was going on.

It seemed like millennia that you stood there, debating with yourself; the light in the kitchen even clicked off, and you watched as Beelzebub began to move back toward his room without even noticing you still camped out before your bedroom door. Maybe it was the way the shadows stretched and waved around the dark hallway now, but you felt your mind jump to its decision the moment you could no longer hear Beelzebub’s footfalls.

So what if you were a living horror movie trope by following this disembodied voice?

This was a house of _demons_ , and if it were _you_ that needed help, you would surely want someone to be brave enough to assist you the same way, right? 

With that you turned, gritting your teeth as you eyed the long walk toward the staircases. “If it turns out to be a trick and it wants to eat me, I’ll call for Mammon,” you reasoned aloud in a murmur. Resolve set, you balled your hands into fists by your sides and began to pad carefully and quietly through the house. 

Actually, for being a haunted house in the middle of the Devildom, the House of Lamentation did not have a lot of squeaky floorboards; it was a fact that you were thankful for now. You had followed the whisper through the foyer, and then up the stairs and down the darkened hall that branched off into the rooms of the strongest demons in Hell. The last thing you had wanted to do was draw any of them out to see you sneaking around.

 _Maybe_ this was your home for your time here, but you were not naive enough to think that it meant you shared this place entirely equally.

You naiveté ended at being willing to follow a cry for help into the unknown corners of a demon house.

Your eyes stared, drinking in the heavy darkness of the passage before you. It looked like a stone stairwell, the kind that wound like a snake as it rose—but there was no third story to the House of Lamentation; you knew that from just seeing the outside of the dorm the times you had wandered to and from school over the past two days. Still, this particular pathway looked somehow too ornate to be simply a means to approach an attic.

The thought that something evil could be living up there occurred to you for a moment, though it did not instill enough fear within you to weaken your curiosity outright. “Mammon has to come if I call, right? No need to be afraid,” you mumbled to yourself.

But it was not just that thought which ultimately helped you take that first step—it was the fact that there was a chance whatever was up there was not evil at all that managed to make you do it; the sliver of worry that it was something that needed your help.

You tried to keep your breathing even and quiet as you made your way up the cool, dark stairwell; you had even ventured to think you were doing a decent job of it overall. Though, perhaps it had merely been the rushing blood by your eardrums that had drowned out the noise you _were_ making, because about halfway up the climb, that voice—no longer a whisper—seemed to realize you were nearby.

“Over here!”

You froze. Well, there went any element of surprise you would have liked to have kept.

Another breath, and you lifted your foot to once more continue your climb.

“(Y/N).”

You gasped, wheeling at once.

Lucifer stood below you, the polished figure looking neither tired nor unkempt despite the hour. Had he still been working? It was possible, you realized, as the RAD uniform he was wearing certainly did not lend itself to the same uses as pajamas. The easy, velvety tone he had used upon you felt absolutely feigned to hide what you assumed was annoyance, so when he took a few more strides, rising to stand a single step below your own, you felt your breath hitch. Even mismatched in the stairwell, Lucifer was still able to leer over you, his reddish-eyes flinty in the dimness.

“Lucifer,” you pressed, quickly backpedaling until you felt the coolness of the stone wall against your thin shirt.

“And what, pray tell, are you doing skulking about the House at this hour?” He inquired, the way his body angled somehow making you feel as cornered as a mouse.

It should have been easy to tell him the truth, what with the way your heart was fluttering uneasily and your own innate penchant for honest communication; however, something in your gut made you instinctually averse to the idea of sharing your true intentions. Maybe you were worried Lucifer, Avatar of Pride, would think you were crazy. Or, perhaps it was because you had thought about Luke’s words a few times since hearing them that morning, and now you, too, wished to keep some cards closer to your chest.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you said in a mumble.

“So you thought you could venture wherever you pleased?” Lucifer inquired, his arms crossing over his chest, gaze as bright as a hawk’s.

You felt your cheeks burn faintly hotter, and you shrugged mildly. “I’ve never had an easy time sleeping somewhere that didn’t feel like home,” you admitted. “And this place…” You motioned vaguely to the House of Lamentation, and even the Devildom beyond with a single motion, your brow furrowing. “It’s like a nightmare. I just thought if I explored everything, if I felt like it was familiar, I could…calm down enough to sleep.”

For a moment Lucifer was silent, the rigid, polished demeanor he bore making it hard to tell if he fully believed your story or not. It was not a total lie, really; nothing here was familiar, and the few days you had spent under this sunless sky had _absolutely_ felt more like a quest to stay alive than one to truly live. Perhaps the Avatar of Pride could feel that, too, because his brow subtly knotted, and a silent sigh passed through his lips. “The Devildom was _made_ to be a nightmare for mortals,” he explained evenly. “So though I can admire your courage for trying and face such things head on, I cannot allow you to go any further. There are things in this realm that could destroy one so weak as you, and I’m afraid that our attic is no safer for you than those.”

Your brows pinched, and your eyes cast over your shoulder to mark the rest of the shadowed stairs that wound upward into the dark. For a moment, all you could imagine beyond this dark corridor was a myriad of gruesome, hellish visions, each more grotesque than the last.

Was fear _really_ the main reason you had been sleeping so poorly? Because if it was not, it was going to be now.

What in the hell was at the top of the stairs?

Your fear drew a sliver of a smile to the black-haired demon’s face, and he let out a low, chilling chuckle. “Don’t look like that. I’ve kept you safe the nights you’ve been here, haven’t I? I can continue to do so,” Lucifer pressed. “Now, it’s late. Go back to your room and try to sleep. You have classes tomorrow.”

A part of you did not want to leave, though nothing had called out to you since Lucifer’s arrival, either; perhaps whatever it was had sensed its game was thwarted. Though, maybe it was just as likely that the avatar’s presence was enough to frighten even whatever was locked away into silence…

“Yes, sir,” you answered quickly, deciding now was not the time to die for curiosity. For a moment you lingered, unsure what the proper etiquette was for finding balance between your escape and not showing an overabundance of fear, though quickly decided it did not matter. “Good night, then,” you breathed, turning to begin a quick descent.

“Sleep well,” Lucifer hummed after you, the low, velvety rumble nearly making your head swim as you sought to straddle your pace between running and walking. It got harder to maintain the closer you got to your room, and you were near sprinting by the time you could see your doorway.

You did not stop until you had found yourself once more inside your own room, breathing somewhat labored as you slid the lock into place. You were positive that you had heard a voice, now; something— _someone—_ was in the attic, and judging by Lucifer’s near materialization the moment you had gotten halfway up toward it, you suspected it was something he did not want you to see. Perhaps he was right about whatever it was being dangerous—surely following disembodied voices to remote places in the Devildom was a recipe for disaster. Still, you could not shake the feeling that any entity that could ask for help so genuinely could not be _all_ bad.

Nor could you imagine a reason a powerful demon lord would lock something _evil_ up in their attic—to you, it seemed more like something Lucifer should want roaming free.

 _"Never trust a demon,”_ Luke’s words once more rose in your mind. _“Especially if that demon is Lucifer.”_

As you climbed into bed, tugging the covers up all the way to your nose, you felt a grim resolve bubble into being in your chest. Whatever was up there at the top of those stairs, whomever was waiting on the other end of those phantom calls, you were going to find them, and figure out why they were there, and why they needed your help.

And, if it was within your power to give, you were going to do whatever you could to offer precisely that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my Lambs! 
> 
> Hope you're staying safe out there, given what's going on. Sorry about the delay in this new chapter--things are super hectic here. =[
> 
> Hope you enjoy, though! Let me know what you think! =D <3


	11. Tale of the Seven Whatsawhosits In Vinyl

“(Y/N).”

All right, you had begun to think Lucifer had some kind of camera system set up around the house. That, or he had inherited some omnipotence from his father.

Either way, this was getting absolutely ridiculous.

The sound of your feet scuffing against the stone stairwell as you fell to a dejected, resigned halt echoed in a lonely fashion, and the back of your mind dared to wonder if this, the third time of your capture, was finally the time Lucifer was going to kill you.

Slowly you turned, a sheen of dread like some kind of guilty toddler overtaking you features. You met Lucifer’s garnet eyes, noting that polite, though entirely dangerous smile was already gracing his lips. “Hello, Lucifer,” you muttered, shoulders hunched forward in defeat.

“It's a strange sort of coincidence we keep running into each other like this, don’t you agree?” The demon’s velvety tones hummed, reverberating against the stone to circle back and cause your heart to stutter.

Well, it was certainly not funny—and you were decently sure it was not coincidence either. A nervous sort of laughter floated from your lips and you gave a small, discreet shrug. “Y-yeah,” you mumbled in answer, finding the thought of not replying potentially bad for your health. Playing along, though, felt just as risky.

His gaze was almost salient as he narrowed his eyes upon you now. “Particularly when I seem to recall you assuring me you were going to forget about what was in the attic.” You could not swallow, because you were fairly certain it felt like a ball of cotton was lodged in the back of your throat. And, as if sensing your sudden weakness, the Avatar of Pride crossed his arms and leered down at you. Was he as tall as Beelzebub? He certainly felt so now. “Unless I’m mistaken, I believe I told you that it’s not a place humans have any business going.”

Your head dipped a bit in shame, though you could not deny the urge to make yourself smaller played a part in the gesture as well. “I know, I just—”

You did not know what excuse you would be able to state this time—everything you had offered beyond the first night had been feeble at best, completely unbelievable at worst. It was a blessing that Lucifer did not appear to want to wait for your new one tonight, instead finishing your thought for you, and more eloquently than you would have been able to. “Couldn’t sleep?” He lilted, and though his tone was low, there was a definitive thrum it sent through the air that made you shiver; his patience, clearly, was wearing thin. “Perhaps I should make you some tea? If you’re having trouble getting a good night’s rest, it might be the best thing for me to do. However,” he paused, that false friendliness on his face all at once fading into something that was stony and impassive. “You should be aware that it’s a bit _too_ effective on humans. You might find that you never wake up again.”

Was he being serious?

You had smelled the tea a few times when Satan had brewed some in the kitchen beside your room, and it had crossed your mind that perhaps a drink like that would be something you might eventually partake in. It had, after all, smelled rather amazing—but if it was essentially suicide to taste it…

Though, beyond that, Lucifer had pulled no punches here; he had essentially declared he was ready to murder you over your late-night escapades to try and see the attic, which probably meant you were treading closer to a precipice than you had dared to consider.

All of a sudden, it felt cold.

“No, that’s all right. I think I can sleep just fine now,” you quipped hurriedly.

Actually, you wondered if you were ever going to be able to sleep again, now that you were imagining death by poison at Lucifer’s hand.

“Well, that’s a relief to hear,” the Avatar of Pride smirked. “Go back to your room. Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Goodnight,” you parroted back quickly before making a your third retreat this week back down the stairs.

You only hoped whomever was in the attic knew you were trying, though whatever weak excuse that was you could hardly imagine. Still, you had been able to hear their whispers through the House of Lamentation a few times more since that first evening, and with the general acoustics of the stone stairwell, you had a suspicion they at least had made out bits of your lackluster attempts to reach them. In particular, Lucifer freezing you in your tracks whenever you reached the halfway point.

Hopefully they could hold out a while longer.

What you needed was a way to get the omnipotent Lucifer off your trail long enough to make it up to the top of those stairs. You had _thought_ that his dinner meeting tonight with Diavolo and Barbatos would have provided the perfect opportunity for you to accomplish that, but since Lucifer had materialized anyway, it was definitely time to rethink your strategy.

By the time you had closed the door behind you, your mind had already settled on broaching this, at least partially, with the only demon in all the Devildom you felt you could trust.

Surely Mammon would have an idea.

* * *

This was the first time since your arrival a week ago that the breakfast table had been virtually empty, though perhaps that was in part your own fault.

The late night escapades had been adding up, and you had snoozed your alarm one too many times before Mammon had come beating and crowing at your door to finally get you up. You passed Lucifer on the way into the dining room, and though you mumbled a polite _“good morning”_ to him in passing, you could not bring yourself to make eye contact with him outright. Mammon, too, seemed to skirt around his brother as if the eldest was a scorching fire, and it made you wonder if the Avatar of Greed had been out too late again and was trying to avoid his _own_ lecture.

The table was still set with two place settings for Mammon and yourself—a thoughtful gesture you were unsure you would have expected from your demonic housemates. Though, whatever surprise you felt over that matter was quickly overshadowed by the cresting realization that the table still held what you would have equated to a mountain of food.

Had Beelzebub not eaten breakfast?

No—that was probably listed in the dictionary as an example of the word _‘impossible’_.

Perhaps, you decided as you slid into your usual seat, it did not matter _why_ there was food; what mattered was there was still enough for you to scarf a quick meal before setting about to classes for the day. You did not know what most of the food was, but it had become almost natural to not think about it too hard. That was not to say you had been somehow overly adventurous in your eating—you still steered clear from the most _obvious_ of strange things, after all—but it had been amazing what had happened to you appetite by merely pretending the most unappetizing dishes did not exist.

Mammon, too, was beginning to fill his plate, though his discontented sigh fanned over the table like a dark grey cloud. “I can’t believe it,” he grumbled.

Well, you had thought nearly the same thing when you had seen the table, though his perturbed inflection made you think the two of you meant different things. “Can’t believe what?” You inquired.

“Why do I gotta be stuck here with you first thing in the morning, and having to look at your face while I’m tryin’ to eat my breakfast, huh?” Mammon narrowed his eyes at you, setting down a bowl of something you certainly did not recognize beyond the somewhat…leg-like appearance. Lizard legs? Was that a real breakfast dish here?

Forcibly, you avoided looking at the bowl and Mammon’s plate, turning your attention back to your own far safer assortment and willing yourself to forget the flash of them in your vision. “You…don’t have to look,” you offered, feeling your cheeks grow warm. You had not thought much about being at the table alone with Mammon, though suddenly knowing he was flat out eyeing you as you tried to eat was making you both self conscious and uncomfortable.

“Tch,” the white-haired demon clucked, finishing filling up his plate. “You don’t get it. To us demoms, eatin’ a human like you is a special sorta treat, understand? But I ain’t allowed to do that, and I’ve gotta sit here and eat my breakfast instead.”

He really did sound forlorn about it, which was its own kind of disturbing. Still, it was not like you were in love with your breakfast either—so maybe you both could commiserate on the sub-par table together.

Not that you were ever going to complain about anyone’s cooking in the House of Lamentation. You wanted to live, after all.

And this had been…Satan’s day?

Yeah, there was no way in Hell or the Devildom you wanted the Avatar of Wrath to think you hated his cooking.

“I’ll, uh, eat in the kitchen if you want?” You tried to offer, your tone somewhat quick and distracted as visions of Satan’s emerald eyes roaring with fire danced through your imaginings. You shuddered.

Mammon did not seem to _want_ to take you up on the offer, though. Instead, he took a rather pointed bite of his toast, content to press on his tirade through the rain of crumbs that scattered from his lips. “I mean, it’s like havin’ a premium grade roast Iriomote musk hog right in front of me. Medium rare, cooked to perfection…” His sapphire eyes were almost gleaming wistfully now, and you wondered what an Iriomote musk hog even _was_ if it made the second born nearly drool all over himself. “But I can’t have it,” he grunted, blinking the vision of cooked meat from his vision and glaring back to you. “Instead, I’m sittin’ here eatin’ dried blackbelly newt legs!”

Well, that answered what the legs in the bowl were.

You almost gagged, though forced yourself to swallow your chewed mouthful of egg instead.

Mammon’s frown was once more directed toward his plate as he began to mumble, the sawing motion of his knife bordering that murderous energy that psychos used in the movies sometimes. “I mean, I’m not sayin’ blackbelly newt legs are bad—I actually like ’em. But still! And what’s even worse is that thick, juicy hunk of meat has started givin’ me orders now, like it’s the boss of me or somethin’!”

“I already told you I won’t invoke the pact unless I really need the help,” you assured. “I think I’ve finally gotten the hang of it now.”

While you had _accidentally_ triggered a few compulsive orders for him while attempting to navigate requests, it had been rarer in the past day or so. It seemed to boil down to your own intent when you spoke; as long as you did not approach a request such as passing the salt with the mindset that Mammon _would absolutely comply_ , the pact was not invoked. Essentially, you had to believe there was a chance he could say no. And, now that you understood that, you felt confident that there would not be many accidental invocations on your end.

Mammon, as was usual, seemed to be listening to exactly zero percent of what you were saying. “I mean, it’s REALLY not fun. What kind of sick torture is this, anyway?”

“You know, I’m just surprised there is food left at all,” you remarked in a form of deflection. “Where’s Beel, do you think?”

“Sports team meeting,” Mammon responded almost immediately, though his frown soon returned. And it was stronger. “Speakin’ of Beel, that reminds me!”

Oh. No.

You had been so close to curbing Mammon’s tirade, too. You _had_ promised not to use the pact unless in emergencies, though you wondered if getting him to just let this whole matter drop for the sake of your own sanity counted as an issue of survival.

Probably not, if the other benchmark was going to be death and dismemberment.

“He went and ate the custard I’d left in the refrigerator!” Mammon pressed on, none the wiser to the pros-and-cons scale you were weighing in your own mind. “I was savin’ it for later. I told him not to eat anythin’ that had my name on it. Ugh, I’m gonna kill him.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, only half-listening at this point.

Mammon seemed to sense your lack of commitment, snapping his fingers impatiently to draw you blinking from your internal reverie. “Oi! Pay attention when I’m talkin’ to ya, dunce! Or do those ears of yours not work?”

“Sorry,” you offered quietly. “Maybe you need to set up a little fridge in your room so Beel can’t find the stuff you want to save. Leviathan has one, and it seems to work all right.”

“It ain’t just Beel,” Mammon grumbled, his brow pinching over his nose. “All of my brothers are rotten—every last one of ’em! Scurryin’ off to class and leavin’ me here stuck with you.”

That felt like a gut-punch, and your shoulders drooped despite your best efforts to remain visually unbothered. “Hey, Mammon?” You prompted, your tone low and somewhat solemn. You waited until he looked at you, forcing eye contact before expressing anything further. “If you want to go to class, you don’t have to wait for me, all right?”

“That ain’t the point!” Mammon huffed to you in counter, though his jaw twitched as if your statement was somehow uncomfortable for him as his eyes skipped away from you to stare into an empty corner. “Besides, Lucifer’d _kill_ me if I let ya wander ’round the Devildom on your own! Ya heard him—ya ain’t allowed to do that.”

“Well, I know…but maybe I can make other arrangements—” You tried, shrugging helplessly. It was not that you _wanted_ to brave the Devildom alone, but if Mammon was as miserable as he seemed to be when in your company, maybe it would not hurt to try and figure out something else regardless.

“Actually, this all comes back to Lucifer!” Mammon interrupted, suddenly sitting upright in his chair as if the lights had come on for him in a moment of eureka. “Havin’ to look after a human, gettin’ stuck in a pact—everythin’ bad is his fault!”

“I don’t know if I’d—” You tried to interject, eyes flickering to the archway as you fleetingly wondered if Lucifer’s omnipotence would breeze him right through the dining hall threshold at once now that Mammon was speaking so brazenly.

Still, no tall, dark-haired demon appeared, and you breathed a silent sigh of relief. Apparently, Mammon was safe for now.

If only you could have the same luck when you were trying to head up the stairs to the attic…

“The way Levi’s haircut is so lame, and Satan’s horns are so stupid lookin’, and Lucifer’s feet are so putrid!” Mammon seemed to be on a roll, nearly inching from his seat with each impassioned declaration. “All of it’s Lucifer’s fault!”

Honestly, there was a lot that seemed wrong with the white-haired demon’s observations, though you found yourself hung up on the thought that Lucifer did not seem the type to _have_ putrid feet; it went against his whole image. And, as the Avatar of Pride, image was everything.

You were going to ask, but Mammon shrugged, slumping back into his chair with an unceremonious plop. “…Not that I’ve ever actually smelled Lucifer’s feet, but still!”

You figured not.

At least His Demonic Unholiness had not come in to hear all of that.

Actually, if Mammon was spouting all of this and Lucifer _had not_ shown up yet, now was probably the perfect time for you to try broaching your own curiosity with Mammon. “Hey,” you led with, eagerly leaning forward and dropping your voice just in case Lucifer happened to breeze in now. It would have been your luck. “Do you know what’s at the top of the stairs?”

“Where the hell did that come from? Ya know what, nevermind. What’s at the top of the stairs? It’s the second story, stupid human,” Mammon snorted.

All right, maybe you should have worded that better. A small puff of your cheeks and furrow of your brow relayed your subtle offense, though. “I meant the attic. What’s in the attic, Mammon?”

That sent a visible jolt through his whole body, and his muscles seemed to tighten him rigid. “Ya know, I was talkin’ about Lucifer’s feet,” he grumbled to you, though he eyed you from under his white hair. “You’re just stickin’ your nose into somethin’ it doesn’t belong in.”

Well, he had not turned you down outright—that was already better than Lucifer had offered for you.

Still, you could not read his face; it was like the normally expressive demon suddenly had no tells to indicate what he was thinking at all, and you wondered if Mammon _knew_ what was going on up those stairs, or if he was possibly too afraid to find out himself.

Either one had its own unique set of complications and payoffs.

“Yeah, I know,” you admitted in a mumble. It was probably best not to say you were occasionally hearing a voice call for help, even if it was Mammon; either someone in this house was going to find you a demonic insane asylum because there was actually nothing at the top of the stairs at all and you were hearing things, _or_ they would punish both you and the mystery guest for outmaneuvering the House’s unspoken rules.

Somehow you doubted any hospital would be up to human codes, and punishments were likely to be what you would consider unlawful overall—so both seemed smart to avoid.

“Why ya soundin’ so gloomy all of a sudden?” Mammon asked with a frown. “Listen, do ya know the secret to gettin’ people to tell ya stuff?”

“Being kind,” you answered. “Proper manners helps, too.”

The human saying _'you catch more flies with honey than vinegar'_ had sort of become a lifestyle for you—not that you were kind to be manipulative, but people _did_ seem to trust you pretty easily.

To your surprise, Mammon did not immediately balk at your answer, either. He shrugged, though, as if there was a better answer he had been hoping you would say. “Sure, I guess that’s important, too—actually, if ya know that, ya oughta show me more respect!” Mammon pointed at you with his fork, blue eyes narrowing.

You had a suspicion he actually meant you should grovel and worship him, because you had been kind and cordial to him already. Upon seeing that you were not immediately on the move to prostrate yourself at his feet, he clicked his tongue and speared a sausage.

“Pfft. Whatever. Still, there’s somethin’ even more important than _manners_ , ain’t there?” Mammon hummed to you aloud. “Money.”

“Money?” You had a hard time imagining that walking up to Lucifer with any currency, regardless of the type, was going to buy your way up to the attic, though.

…Maybe asking Mammon was not the best idea you had after all.

“Ya heard me,” the white-haired demon quipped back. “Sweet, sweet money! It’s what the world revolves around: money, money, and more money!”

Well…that was not necessarily _wrong_ , you figured. Still. “I would say _most_ of the world revolves around money,” you countered somewhat quietly. “But somehow I doubt Lucifer would bend to a bribe.”

“Ah,” Mammon’s brow lifted somewhat in understanding and he smirked knowingly. “I see what this is about. You tried to climb up there, didn’t ya? But Lucifer stopped ya, right?”

You nodded, deciding it was not worth explaining that Lucifer had caught you not once, but _three_ times over the past few nights. Though, if anyone in the House of Lamentation would share your misery over the first born’s inherent psychic ability to just _know_ when you were up to something he would not like, it was probably Mammon.

The white-haired demon scoffed, crossing his arms. “And _now_ ya want the Great Mammon to help ya, ain’t that right? Well! There’s somethin’ you need to get straight right now: if ya think ya can just offer me a little bit of money and I’ll spill the beans, you’re dead wrong!”

You were about to let him know you had no money to offer, what with your wallet back home in the Human Realm, but it seemed Mammon was unwilling to give you the option to explain, anyway. 

“I mean, pretend I told ya somethin’ I shouldn’t. Lucifer would beat me half to death!” The tan of his skin seemed to bleed a bit lighter, and his eyes no longer focused on you, but rather on something invisible and far off—maybe a memory, or vivid daydream. “Actually, I’d be lucky if that’s all he did. If I _weren’t_ lucky, he’d have me eliminated. It’d take a good two hundred million years to recover from _that_ …”

The fact that anyone could recover from being ‘ _eliminated’_ was impressive, though it was probably best to avoid such outcomes to begin with. Perhaps you should have factored that into your calculations—Lucifer was the single most terrifying demon you had met in the Devildom so far. Of _course_ getting someone to help you openly defy him was playing with fire.

Maybe magma.

Or maybe closer to the whole volcano.

Mammon blinked the somewhat troubled expression away after a moment, turning a gleaming grin to you instead. “Still, if you’re bound and determined to buy the information off me,” he began to trill, whatever unease he had been harboring turning now into a thread of boyish excitement. “It’ll take…let’s see…how about the monetary equivalent of the world’s total oil production? But like, two hundred million years’ worth, since I’ll be outta commission that long. That might do it.”

Well, his greed was certainly showing.

“Mammon, I’m a desk jockey,” you declared. “I don’t even make six figures. Or, didn’t. Whatever. I’m not paying you two hundred million years’ worth of oil revenue.”

“I know,” he simpered smugly, though you were unsure what part of your statement he was referring to. Maybe the Avatar of Greed could smell your salary like a bloodhound could find a trail. Honestly, weirder things had happened so far. “In other words, I ain’t gonna tell ya. Is that clear enough for ya, blockhead?”

You frowned. “There’s no need for name calling,” you grunted. “It’s not like I blame you for not saying anything. I’m scared of Lucifer, too.” Actually, saying it out loud made it even _more_ ridiculous you were trying so hard to get into that stupid attic. But maybe whoever was up there was scared too, and that did not sit well with you.

“WHAT?” Mammon’s bellow filled the room as his eyebrows disappeared underneath his bangs in shock. It was enough to make it feel like your heart had taken a quick trip to your throat, though you steadied yourself quick enough when a quick glance around had proven that Lucifer had _not_ just waltzed in like you had kind of been expecting.

“…What?” You prompted.

“What’d ya say? You think _I’m_ actually afraid of Lucifer? Me, the Avatar of Greed?” Mammon was leaning over you, casting a shadow over your face.

“Um, well, yeah,” you shrugged. “Though I’d bet everyone is—”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Mammon interrupted with a huff, standing quick enough that his chair skidded even on the ornate Persian rug splayed beneath the table. “I’m not the least bit afraid of him, got it? Not even a little!”

You blinked. Really? He was going to try to lie about this? Between the way he yelped on that first phone call when Lucifer had cut in, and the various threats you had heard Lucifer use to cow Mammon into a semblance of behavior since, it would not have taken a detective to know that the Avatar of Pride was the stuff of Mammon’s nightmares. “Mammon, it’s all right—everyone’s afraid of something, and honestly if it’s Lucifer, that’s more than understandable.”

“I told you, I’m not scared! I mean, that’s crazy! Now, someone like _you_ bein’ scared of Lucifer makes sense—you’re weak, ya know? But me? I’m strong. I’m powerful!” Mammon was spouting now, gesturing around to both you and himself with eccentric motions. “Ya know, I don’t even let people see the full extent of my power most of the time!”

“O-oh, that’s—” You figured offering him a compliment would ease this strange fluster away, though it seemed the white-haired demon did not wish to give you the opportunity.

“What I’m sayin’ is that even if I did face off against someone like Lucifer, I wouldn’t even have to use all of my strength to win, understand?!”

You did not know what was more uncomfortable: the fact that Mammon was trying to convince you that he could best his elder brother easily, or the fact his statement implied there were more demons than Lucifer who could boast those power levels. “Look, maybe we should head to class…?”

Mammon seemed deaf to your prompt, and blind to the fact you were standing, scooping up your plate to make an escape. You hoped that getting the Avatar of Greed out of the dining room would help him clear his mind; surely he would not rant like this openly in the streets, right?

Still, Mammon wheeled to follow you, eyes trained on you like some kind of pointer. “So you know what? Fine! You can’t get up the stairs because Lucifer’s blockin’ the way, right? You need somethin’ to get rid of him, right?!”

“I-I guess,” you stammered. “But—”

“Well guess what? Distractin’ Lucifer is easy as pie! Listen up, ’cause I’m only gonna say this once.” And in case you did not hear, Mammon held up a single finger to make sure you knew the number of chances you had to listen. “You know that series Levi likes? What’s it called…um… _The Tale of Seven…Seven…Seven ways to get Rich Quick_? No…that’s the book I was reading the other day…”

“You mean _The Tale of the Seven Lords_?” You prompted.

Mammon’s face lifted, and he snapped his fingers excitedly. “Yup! That’s the one!”

How long had he lived with Leviathan? You wondered how he could possibly forget the name of his brother’s favorite series, given the fact you had nearly had the title burned into your soul from the handful of interactions you had managed to snag with the purple-haired otaku.

“Anyway, you need to get your hands on the vinyl edition copy of the soundtrack for that _Tale of the Seven Whatsawhosits_. If you have _that_ , you can use it to distract Lucifer, no problem.” Mammon laughed, the excitement on his face making his whole expression luminous.

You, on the other hand, could not manage to wrap your head around what you had heard. Lucifer, Avatar of Pride, wanted the _vinyl_ _copy_ of the _Seven Lords_ soundtrack? “…Why the hell does he want that?” You mumbled.

Mammon shrugged. “Don’t ask me. My thing is knowin’ what people want—not why,” he grunted back. “Either way, if ya wanna climb those stairs, you’re gonna need to get your hands on that soundtrack first.”

Well, you did suppose an Avatar of Greed knowing one’s innermost material desires made sense. Still, if Lucifer wanted it, why had he not already gotten it? Even thinking about obtaining something a Lord of Hell could not seemed more than overwhelming…

Your eyes settled on Mammon. “Will you help me do it?”

Mammon frowned at you, scoffing as he snapped up his own plates and began to trail his way into the kitchen, you at his heels. “Why should I help ya? I don’t understand. If ya want the soundtrack, then go find Levi and work it out with him yourself, dummy.”

Well, you _supposed_ that made sense; Leviathan would be the best person to go to if you were looking for anything involving _The Seven Lords_. Still, your stomach felt knotted at the thought of approaching him and asking him for it directly. Likely, he would view this the same as asking for that two hundred million years' worth of oil revenue you had balked at just a few minutes ago. “I’d feel safer if you were there, Mammon,” you explained.

“Not my problem! All right—it’s class time. Now, I best be off,” the demon larked as he began to retreat.

“Mammon!” You called. That twinge above your heart relayed you had put too much intent in his name before he had even had time to offer his reaction, and you preemptively gasped.

Immediately Mammon yowled, stumbling back your direction. “D’ah! Dammit, human! F-fine! Fine! I’ll go with ya, okay? Just—just stop yankin’ my chain!”

“Sorry!” You chirped, hurriedly working to release the command. By the time the next _click_ sensation happened, Mammon was already scowling your way. “I appreciate your help,” you tried to offer, hoping to smooth over the accidental pact trigger.

And you had _just_ assured him you did not want to use it save for emergencies, too.

“Pfft, whatever. We can talk to Levi after class though—we really _are_ gonna be late,” the demon grumbled, straightening himself again as if a bird trying to realign his feathers.

With that, the demon strode out to collect his things, and you made move to follow—but only after you set your hands on a few additional demon-protection snacks to stuff in your knapsack. After all, the vision of the mountain of food on the table had not _entirely_ left your mind, and you had a suspicion a certain Avatar of Gluttony was going to be extra ravenous today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, my lambs! =D 
> 
> Sorry about the delay. Things are just so insane between mom being home from the hospital and needing help, my full time work, and then of course the inability to escape to quiet places to write. =[ I promise I have not forgotten you! 
> 
> Here is chapter eleven! As always, let me know what you think. =3
> 
> <3


	12. Of Platypi and White Lies

You had barely taken ten strides from the front gate when Mammon’s D.D.D. rang. Perhaps it was a learned response from having Lucifer so often on the other end of the line, but the way he scrambled to answer it was almost downright _sad_. You did your best to avoid snorting at his frantic motions, and since the demon quipped no remark to you, you imagined you were at least somewhat successful. “Yo, you’ve reached The Mammon,” he greeted, and despite the fact you could tell he had delivered such an introduction with completely serious intention, you felt a small smirk spread across your face as you rolled your eyes.

 _Maybe_ Mammon’s ego could barely fit through a door, but _man_ was it actually a little amusing.

“Ah, ’bout time I heard from ya,” Mammon clucked, his tan face suddenly reading a shade more serious than you were used to. It was, you decided, probably _not_ Lucifer on the other end. Not with the brazen, un-stuttered way the Avatar of Greed huffed impatiently, anyway.

Actually, whomever it was must have been somehow below Mammon on the Devildom pecking order, because while you could make out no words directly, the jumbled, hurried tones you _could_ hear made you wonder just how nervous the person was on the other end of the line. Mammon glanced to you, his eyes narrowing for a moment as if trying to read how closely you were paying attention, though such motions soon bled away to something more like excitement.

“Demon Style, huh?” As much as he tried to make his question sound indifferent, you could see the shine upon his face. “Yeah, you can go ahead and accept the job. When’s the shoot?”

There was more unintelligible humming coming through the D.D.D., though this time you could hear relief and excitement in it.

“ _Today_?” Mammon repeated. There was a pause as a tentative question was posed from the other end of the line. “No. No, it ain’t a problem. If I said I’ll do it, I’ll do it! I’m a demon of my word, ya know. Send me the studio location.” Mammon froze, his brow suddenly tightening over his nose as his lips flickered downward in a scowl. “Wait a minute. If it’s today, does this mean they were lookin’ at _The_ Mammon as a backup?!”

You could not help but be curious, though you tried to look anywhere _but_ at the demon at your side. Whatever verbose apology was being thrown Mammon’s way sounded as if it would pair well with prostration, and though the demon beside you let out a small growl, he seemed somehow placated beneath those curt sounds.

“Yeah, yeah—whatever. Just tell ’em I’ll be there. They won’t be needin’ anyone else. Got it?”

There was a pause where you assumed the caller said something that would fall into a, _‘yes, of course’_ category before Mammon slammed his thumb down on the end call button and stuffed the D.D.D. back into his pocket. “…Everything all right?” You asked, hoping your tone was benign enough. The last thing you wanted was for a demon to think you were a nosy brat.

…Even if you _were_ definitely feeling one hundred percent nosy.

“Yeah,” Mammon answered. His sapphire-blue eyes slid to you, and he frowned lightly. “Now listen here, human. I know I said I’d help ya with Levi after class—but it’s gonna be after dinner. Got it?”

“Okay,” you conceded with a nod, wondering what had happened to make Mammon change the subject like that.

“I got a job this afternoon, and I don’t want ya usin’ any of that pact stuff ’cause ya think I’m skippin’ out on ya,” Mammon added, leaning in and narrowing his eyes to help drive home his point.

You lifted your hands in surrender, waving them subtly to make sure he could see you were planning nothing. “I won’t, I promise,” you assured. He stared at you a moment as if trying to decide whether your reply was satisfactory or not, though soon enough shifted his attention back to the streets and RAD Castle that was rising up ahead. Your curiosity, though, was still stirring. “A job, huh?” You remarked. “I didn’t realize demons _had_ jobs. What do you do, Mammon?”

The demon clicked his tongue impatiently. “I model. Got a problem with that?”

“ _Seriously_?” You found yourself gasping. Well, he _had_ mentioned that he had an agent—perhaps you should have seen this coming. Still, you had never known anyone with such a glamorous job before, and you felt somewhat star-struck despite yourself.

“Oi,” Mammon barked, brow knitting together over his nose. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“No, nothing bad,” you hurriedly offered. “I just— _wow_. I’ve never met a model before. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though!”

Your smile must have been too bright overall, because Mammon’s blue eyes narrowed faintly as if he were suspicious. “And what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” He asked tentatively again.

“Hm? Oh, just that you’re definitely handsome enough to do that sort of job,” you shrugged with an eager grin. “And you’re like a top demon, right? So that’s got to make you popular for brand endorsement.”

Beside you, Mammon’s steps fumbled, though he did his best to recover his strides gracefully; the last thing he wanted was for you, the stupid, weak human he had to babysit, to look his way. If you did, you would undoubtedly see the dusting of pink that had bloomed warm over his nose and cheeks. “W-well, of _course_ I’m popular!” He declared with a scoff. “My old man mighta been more trouble than He was worth, but He definitely didn’t skimp on the aesthetics! Even a total moron would know _that_.” 

You know, there were probably not a lot of men who could say they were literally handcrafted by God the way Mammon could. There were his brothers, of course, and the two angels you had met...

Perhaps that was why they were all so unearthly _beautiful._ Even Luke seemed flawless in his cherubic, childlike proportions.

Sure, there were some people in your realm that could have been counted as works of art; even as shady as he had acted since you had met him, Solomon could be used as a prime example. Still, you imagined that the majority of humans walking down the street would not be able to stand abreast those of the House of Lamentation and be noticed for their attractiveness.

“Your family is living proof of that,” you conceded finally, offering Mammon a small laugh. “Humans must’ve been from His abstract phase.”

“Pfft,” Mammon huffed, rolling his eyes. “Please. Everybody knows _that_ was when He made that weird mammal thing. I mean, really. Ya know what’s a dumb idea? Somethin’ that looks like a bird and a beaver mixed up!”

A bird and a beaver?

“…Are you talking about a platypus?” You pressed quietly.

The word nearly made Mammon groan. “Ugh, I hate those things. The old man was so damn proud of ’em too! I think everyone in the Realm was tired of Him talkin’ about ’em all the time. Thank goodness He made humans right after. Least they make some sorta sense.”

“Really?” You could not help the small laugh that crept from you. The idea that platypi had, at one point, been the most popular gossip around the Celestial water cooler was certainly amusing.

Mammon glared at you. “Don’t believe me? Ask anyone who was there! I bet even _Simeon_ was tired of hearin’ about ’em, and he’s always been one of the most laid back angels!”

Ahead, you could begin to hear the throngs of demons filing into the school as first period approached. Your laughter rose to mingle with the rest of the low din, and you grinned at Mammon. “Not that I don’t believe you, but I am curious to learn more,” you admitted.

A phantom of a similar expression passed over Mammon’s lips, though he quickly cleared such evidences from his face. “Do what ya want,” he offered. “You can get to class from here! And ya better find someone else to take ya home, since I’ll be cuttin’ out early today.”

 _That_ had begun to wipe the smile from your lips. Lucifer had made it very clear you were not allowed to wander alone—and since it had only been seven days since your sudden appearance into a demonic realm, you had not quite grown comfortable enough to consider asking to tackle the streets of the Devildom alone. “Y-yeah. I’ll see you later, Mammon. Good luck on your photoshoot!”

“Psh. I don’t need luck!” You heard him quip back in reply, though he lingered for a moment as he sniffed. “Well. See ya!” Quickly the demon turned, and you watched as his white hair faded into the massive crowds around you.

Finding another way to get home, huh?

Surely that would not be an impossible task. Five other demons lived with you, and they were already going to be around campus, right? Surely _one_ of them could spare you their company for the walk home. You had six periods and lunch to work something out.

Plenty of time.

…And if for some reason none of them were going to be willing to spare you any help, maybe Simeon or Luke would be willing to act as a proverbial guardian angel. Though, really, you were not sure if traveling around in their company was going to be less dangerous; after all, if there were people here who did not want a human around, surely there were just as many waiting to try and overpower _them_ as well. Unfortunately for the angels, it was rather apparent they were not demons.

The times you had spied either of them in the hall, they had stuck out immensely, though you would venture to say that Simeon and Luke stood out in a _good_ way. It was like they carried sunlight with them under their skin, though against the dark of the Devildom, it was was like having a portable neon sign around their necks to let everyone know you were definitely not from around here.

Still. There were five other people you could try to seek help from before ever having to cross _that_ angelic bridge, so you buried your worries away and turned instead for Tower Two.

* * *

Ethics of Corruption seemed to pass slowly; your brain was near groaning in protest as the teacher began his lecture, the underlying lamentations of his coffee expressing your own inner unrest perfectly. It was not that you were bored—honestly, you did not think _‘boring’_ was a word you could ever use in good conscience in a school of demons—but you already felt like your brain was collapsing upon itself trying to hold all the new information that had been thrown at you during your first week in attendance. If human brains got a new wrinkle every time they learned something, you were pretty sure your mind now looked like a really, _really_ dried up raisin.

The weird daze you were in as you worked your hand to keep up with your notes dissipated the minute the bell rang. “I would come to class Monday prepared for a pop quiz on this week’s chapters if I were you,” the teacher lazily yawned as he turned to sink into his chair, cold coffee in hand. His students scrambled for an exit.

Honestly, you were unsure how many had even _heard_ the casual quip, what with how few groans and grumbles you heard rising around you. Perhaps your classmates were simply not worried because to them this class was like elementary school art; you, though, felt a grunt begin to bubble in your throat, and you hurriedly worked to swallow it before it managed an escape.

This was school, so you certainly could not claim to not know the drill. In fact, for you the drill had been over—you had already _been_ through all of this stuff! Still, knowing in the back of your mind what school really entailed and suddenly coming face to face with your first quiz in _years_ were apparently two entirely different sorts of revelations. Just knowing you were going to have to study most of the weekend was enough to make you more morose than you would have thought; perhaps work was a stressful corporate nightmare, but at least when you got home, you could shut your brain off.

Hopefully you still knew how to study effectively.

For some reason, you simply _knew_ failing a quiz would bring out a scary Lucifer.

It was with rote motion that you left for your next class, backpack thrown over your shoulders as you navigated the halls with downcast eyes. Ahead, you could see the Fields of Punishment cresting into view, though there was decidedly something different about them today than you had noted any day prior.

It looked…fuller? Like maybe there were more demons than normal? No. That was not it. You recognized the faces milling about, so none were outright new.

Momentarily you wondered if somehow you had managed to be late, though a quick glance at the time on the face of your D.D.D. chased away _that_ worry. No; you were not running behind. Something, though, was _definitely_ different today.

Actually, it was unusually quiet, too. The laughter and conversations you had counted as normal seemed diminished, replaced instead by whispers and restless forms. Perhaps it was one of those impending-weekend tensions that was humming in the air or something? Though, even as the thought flickered through you, you were pretty sure that was not actually the answer. _That_ kind of energy would have made everyone more pleasant. This was…not.

“Uh-oh,” a small hum sounded by your ear. You gasped, wheeling around fast enough that your backpack—well, the _mace_ in your backpack—found enough force of movement to probably leave a bruise along your spine where it clipped into you.

What you saw was a specter-like, pristine visage, though you instantly knew it was no demon. As far as you could tell, though, ‘ _monster’_ was not completely off the table. “Solomon!” You gasped, and while the second part went unsaid, you were fairly certain anyone from any of the realms could parse out the _‘you scared me’_ bit all on their own. The Avatar of Jump-Scares did not even do you the service of acknowledging your presence, however, and his pale eye continued raking over the listless mass ahead before settling his eyes upon one figure in particular. 

“Looks like Beelzebub’s quite hungry today,” he observed seamlessly.

“Tch,” another voice echoed in a clucked agreement. “Though, when _isn’t_ he?”

“Fair point,” Solomon chuckled, flashing his eyes to the figure beside him. “Still, he looks a touch more irritable today, wouldn’t you say? The class seems to be outright avoiding him.”

You momentarily abandoned your fluster and slight annoyance at being outright ignored to wheel and re-examine the scene yourself.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

 _That_ was what was different. 

The normal flock of demons that crowded in around the Avatar of Gluttony were keeping a relatively wide berth from him this morning making their numbers look artificially inflated, low voices and hurried glances his way dripping with the sort of nerves some students got when they were trying to avoid being called on by the teacher. You were not sure you outright blamed them for such measures, though, since you had been informed that first night of Beel’s penchant for apparently eating _anything_ if he was hungry enough.

And Beel definitely did not look happy.

Could demons be patrons, too? Because if so, maybe he was Beelzebub, Avatar of Gluttony, and Patron Demon of Hangry.

“(Y/N), good morning,” Solomon finally greeted you, turning away from the figure beside him to give you that cool, wintry greeting. You had hardly managed to even turn to face him before he was pressing in with a question. “You wouldn’t happen to know if Beelzebub perchance skipped a meal this morning, would you?”

Your brow furrowed, and you made a motion that balanced between a shrug and a shake of the head. “He wasn’t at breakfast this morning, but I doubt he skipped eating,” you offered. “He left the house early—his team had a meeting, I think?”

Like a serpent, the other figure slithered around Solomon’s shoulder, teeth on display in the singular most wolfish smile you had ever seen. “Ahhh, so _this_ is the other human,” the figure hummed, bending to study your face. “You didn’t tell me they were in this class too, Sol.”

He was not _overly_ tall, perhaps, though what that meant for demons you could not really qualify anymore. His hair was white, and looked as if it would have been downright silken in the same way as arctic fox fur if he had not clearly styled it to look edgier. It nearly washed him out, his skin a startlingly pale shade that seemed somehow iridescent in the light of the Devildom’s moon. His eyes, though, were the most startling of his features: a shade of blue that was so pure that it was nearly hypnotic to look into them. Like ice. Like winter. Like a deep, placid, frozen lake…

“You didn’t ask,” Solomon answered. “Allow me to introduce you. As you’ve surmised, (Y/N) here is the other exchange student from my realm. (Y/N), please meet—”

The smile that coiled upon the demon’s face—you knew by process of having met every _non_ -demon in the Devildom that he could not be anything _but_ —was almost like watching a piano wire pull tight. The predatory gleam of his eye was unsettling, in particular when he reached to clutch your hand in his. It was not quite a handshake so much as some sort of motion from a chivalrous and probably historically inaccurate movie set in a bygone age. “Belial, Avatar of Deception,” he interrupted. Those scary eyes? They gave you a once over, glinting. “My, my, what a pretty soul.”

Oh _good_.

The Avatar of _Lies_.

Just what your foray to the Devildom needed!

And, well, he was either _already_ lying, or his honesty was just as terrifying as everything else about him. You were not sure which idea sat worse with you, really. “O-oh, nice…to meet you,” you tried to answer.

“I’m actually quite sorry I missed your arrival,” Belial hummed. “Though, what with political campaigns starting up mortal-side, I suppose it couldn’t be helped. Duty calls.”

“Oh, that’s you, huh?” You questioned, though somehow you were unsurprised.

Belial smirked. “Still, had time for Devilgram at night. I mean, _already_ getting Mammon on a leash? I’m very impressed! Solomon said you have no magic.”

If you were an animal, your hackles would be starting to lift; you could feel the slight tingly feeling of his power seeming to caress you, starting from where his hand still clutched yours. You were not sure what kind of magic a demon of deception could cast on you, but it was probably safer not to find out. Hurriedly you pried yourself away, clearing your throat, and flashing an eye toward Beelzebub at the center of the field. You did not have a pact with him, but if things went bad, surely he would not let you get eaten…? “I wouldn’t call it a leash,” you mumbled.

That wolfish smile spread wider as the demon straightened himself to his full stature once more. “You better hurry, Sol,” Belial preened. “If this human is so cunning, why—it won’t be long until they’ve wrapped Lucifer himself around their fingers either, hm?”

Make a pact with _Lucifer_? You could not help but frown, as if hesitating to deny such an absurd claim would merely summon the Avatar of Pride to smite you right where you stood. “I literally have zero intention of trying anything like that,” you countered gruffly.

“Now, now, Belial,” Solomon hummed, almost absently patting his companion’s shoulder. “I think we have something else to worry about right now, don’t you?” The sorcerer nodded toward Beelzebub once more, and your eyes followed his gaze, finding the scene mostly unchanged save for the subtle darkening of the behemoth’s face.

“Do you have food on you?” Solomon inquired to the demon at his side.

“Why would I carry food around with me?” Belial frowned with a scoff.

“I didn’t expect so,” Solomon sighed.

“I do,” you piped up.

Solomon tilted his head, his brow arching elegantly as he peered down at you. “Really? I didn’t think you’d be able to fit it in your backpack, what with the mace.”

Yeah, okay, _maybe_ it was weird to still be carting around medieval weaponry, but it was not like you had any clout as a magic user to lean on like _him_. Nonetheless, you felt your cheeks tinge a bit in embarrassment. “I’m good at packing,” you tried to offer offhandedly. Whether it worked or not, you could not say.

“…Are you going to go give it to Beel?” Belial asked, his face lifting in surprise.

“Well, I’ve done it before,” you explained. It was not like it mattered that was _why_ you had taken it upon yourself to become a walking snack machine in the first place, nor did you feel the need to entertain Belial and Solomon with your admittedly feeble and insane plans of escape in the event of a ravenous demon attack, so you offered nothing further. Actually, it was probably not a good idea to let a demon know what those contingency plans were anyway—especially if they were making your skin crawl as much as this guy was.

“I’m just impressed,” Belial hummed. “Beel ate a few classmates before when he got like this, so for a human to just walk up to him…” His gaze flicked to Beel’s towering figure, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied him worriedly.

“He _what_?” You gasped. Maybe you should not have been surprised—after all, the Avatar of Gluttony himself had outright admitted that you yourself were fair game for snacking. Still, if _this_ was the calm before the proverbial food storm, how close had you been to being swallowed already? Wide eyed, you turned to Beelzebub in horror.

“Belial, I think that is enough,” the silver-haired sorcerer sighed tiredly. “You mustn’t take him so seriously, (Y/N). He is the Avatar of Deception for a reason.”

Belial broke into laughter beside you. “Ah, you should _see your face_! Humans with souls like yours are so _easy_.” Was he _crying_? He certainly looked to be wiping away slithery tears of laughter. You frowned indignantly. “Though, the best deceptions always have a bit of truth, you know! Beel _has_ eaten demons before. That part ain’t really a lie! He was a bit more worked up than this, though, so you’re probably fine.”

…Great.

“Just don’t make any sudden movements, and try not to smell good,” Belial added.

You swiveled your attention to Solomon, as if trying to gauge if _this_ advice was something you should listen to, but the sorcerer’s face was mostly impassive and as cool as ever. So was that a real tip? You sighed, adjusting the lay of your backpack’s straps as you turned back toward the class.

“We’ll just wait here,” Belial chuckled.

You had known him all of two minutes, and already that particular demon seemed like he was going to grate on every single nerve you possessed. Though that was for another time. For now, you had a demon to feed.

Tentatively you approached, your feet treading lightly upon the grass as if the whole field had been outfitted in mines. Maybe Belial and Solomon had been playing more jokes on you, telling you to approach him _this_ carefully, though given messing up meant dying a horrible death, it was probably better to err on the side of caution and deal with the embarrassment-fallout later.

You caught the moment Beelzebub’s eyes flicked to you, and he offered a low, rumbled greeting that almost sounded like your name; you could hardly hear it over the other, louder sound of his grumbling stomach. If you could listen live to tectonic plates shifting around, they _probably_ sounded something like that. Though, maybe continents moving was quieter than Beel.

The demon’s head dipped sorrowfully, and his lips pressed a tight line. Perhaps you should have been more nervous, approaching him as you were; still, the look on his face seemed so miserable, your instincts were near screaming you could not rightly turn away. Besides, you had certainly not left the House of Lamentation unprepared.

“Morning, Beel,” you tried to offer, hoping your smile was pleasant enough to cover your nerves. “Mammon said you had a team meeting this morning. Breakfast wasn’t the same without you,” you added with a small laugh. Friendly. Cheery.

Hopefully not annoying. 

His eyes swiveled to you, though he sighed, and it made your heart squeeze when you realized the sound was almost downright irritated. Perhaps it was because you had so brazenly brought up breakfast when he was very clearly having a moment of hunger crisis. “I ate before I left,” he explained, brow knitting tighter. “But I got hungry again.”

“Actually, I figured you might,” you hurriedly offered, flipping your backpack around. The sound of the zipper undoing was enough to draw Beelzebub toward you like some kind of giant newfie sniffing out a treat jar, and his amethyst eyes trained upon your hands as they plucked a rather large plastic bag of food and snacks from within. “They, uh, might’ve gotten a little squished. The mace is heavy,” you explained, though you held the bag out toward him.

“You’re giving me all this food?” He inquired, a clear look of surprise on his face.

“Yeah, of course,” you nodded, placing the bag in his hands with a knowing smile. “Nobody likes being hungry.”

Were his eyes sparkling?

You did not have long to try and figure it out; his hands were eagerly beginning to rifle through the bag, a smile edging over his lips. “You’re really nice, (Y/N)!” He declared.

He sounded so happy, you almost gaped at him, mouth open. You had not expected demons to so forwardly offer such showcases of pure gratitude, and especially not over something that should have aligned so well with their domain. After all, giving the Avatar of Gluttony food was _almost_ like an offering, right? It was not like Beel had not swiped food directly off your plate before, nor had you been shy in throwing snacks his way whenever you began to suspect he was growing peckish. Though, maybe those small snacks and scraps meant something different to him than a bag of food that probably constituted as a full picnic for two normal humans.

Had you been silent too long?

…Probably.

“T-thanks,” you stammered out, and a flush began to pool upon your skin as the compliment _really_ sank in. You had never really been one to accept those easily; it was kind of like riding in the passenger seat when you were used to driving: _what were you supposed to do with your hands_? “I better go get changed,” you offered.

You glanced back toward Solomon and Belial as you moved for the locker rooms, though you found the two merely grinning at you in a rather unreadable manner. A sigh upon your lips, you passed in to change, deciding your energy was better spent figuring out a way to survive gym than it was worrying about what a sorcerer and a liar were thinking.

* * *

The quick wash-down you had given yourself post Fiend Conditioning had wicked away most of the filth and sweat you had accrued during class, though you figured you would not feel fully whole and clean until you had a chance to jump into a proper shower back at the House of Lamentation.

Or maybe a soothing bath would be better.

After the crash course introduction to Greek-style Olympian sports, you had a feeling you were going to have more than a few aching muscles. Though, at least you could count your blessings that _your_ demon-grade shot put sphere had not turned around and bitten your hand.

Hopefully the lesser demon made a full recovery.

It was little surprise to you that Beelzebub had outperformed everyone. Apparently the food you had shared was enough to revitalize him completely, and it had been rather impressive to watch. Actually, there was absolutely a clear ranking in the performances of the classmates overall—if Beelzebub was considered the reigning king, though, _you_ were the guttersnipe at the bottom.

Frankly, it was embarrassing. 

Your D.D.D. buzzed, and you hurriedly reached to dig it out. Perhaps the rush of your movement was even bordering frenzied, like Mammon’s had that morning. Your heart seemed to skip unevenly whenever a message came in; after all, this was not like home where your friends could blast you with memes and idle conversation like a constant conveyer belt of interaction. This was the Devildom—a place where only the Lords of Hell had your number.

You dropped your eyes to read the alert upon the screen, and felt your blood chill the moment you saw Lucifer’s name upon the banner. Your fingers moved as if they were possessed of their own free will, bringing up his message as quickly as you were able.

**Lucifer:** I received a call from RAD Threads. Your uniform is ready to be picked up.

 **(Y/N):** Oh, all right!

 **Lucifer:** I would take you myself, but I’ve got a meeting.

 **Lucifer:** Please ask my brother to escort you after school.

 **Lucifer:** And remind Mammon he has no choice.

Your steps came to a halt, and a single, solitary word slipped from your lips. “Crap.”

“You all right?” A familiar voice inquired, though the words seemed somehow misshapen.

You glanced to see Beel, disheveled RAD uniform once more gracing his broad shoulders, absently chewing on the contents of what you assumed was the demonic equivalent of a bag of chips as a furrow knitted upon his brow. You did not know where he had found the food, though perhaps one of your other classmates had decided to share it now that he was not looking so hangry.

Actually, now he _almost_ looked concerned.

“Y-yeah,” you answered. “Might not be after I tell Lucifer Mammon _can’t_ take me to pick up the tailored uniform like he wants, though.” You tried to smile to lighten the remark, though perhaps such uncomfortable visions really did not deserve such efforts.

“Why can’t he take you?” Beel inquired immediately, the furrow of his brow hardening.

Maybe that was a fair question, since Mammon had honestly ditched more of his responsibilities than not over the past week. “Someone called him on the way to school this morning, and now he’s got a job this afternoon.”

The blinking of those purple eyes was enough to relay Beelzebub had not expected such an answer. “Mammon’s got a shoot today?” He inquired. You nodded, the motion stiff.

“That’s what he said,” you murmured. “Sounded like he was filling in for a cancellation.”

Maybe you could go by yourself—maybe it was not that big of a deal! You did errands alone _all the time_ back home; surely if you just kept your head down nobody would even notice that you were the single weakest individual in the Devildom…

Yeah, all right, you could not convince yourself that would work, either.

And you _really_ did not want to make Lucifer angry by disobeying him to do that.

“Hmmm. I’ll take you,” Beel offered, the distinct crunch of more chips following his words.

“What, really?” You gasped, looking up toward him.

The redhead nodded. “You’ve fed me a few times, so I owe you,” he declared. “Plus, we can stop by Hell’s Kitchen on the way home.”

“Hell’s Kitchen?” You repeated. You did not want to admit that your stomach was suddenly piqued in interest, and you never would have shared that your mouth was watering as a single fact resurfaced in your mind, though both were true. “The place with the burgers, right?”

Beelzebub’s amethyst eyes glittered, and you suddenly could not escape the feeling that when God had first made him, He had planted stars in his eyes. They just seemed to shine, even in the night-like dark around you. “You remembered!” He declared.

“Well, Human Realm food would be memorable to me,” you offered with an embarrassed laugh.

The last of the chips were dumped into Beel’s mouth, and he chewed for a startlingly short amount of time before wiping his lips upon the sleeve of his uniform jacket. “All right. I’ll meet you in front of the school after class, then.”

You could not help but smile. “Sure! And thank you.”

A small smile pulled at Beel’s lips in return and he nodded. “See you later.” The Avatar of Gluttony began to head back toward the castle, though your own feet were slow as you dropped your attention back to your phone; the last thing you wanted to do was leave this particular demon lord on _‘seen’_.

**(Y/N):** Actually, Mammon got called in to a photoshoot.

 **(Y/N):** But Beelzebub has offered to take me, so it’s fine! Have a good meeting.

As you relocked your D.D.D., you could not help but feel relief over the way things had worked out. After all, if you were going to be wandering around the Devildom with a demon you did not have a pact with, Beelzebub seemed like the best choice. After all, he was the nicest demon you had met so far, and you could not help but think he could not be all that bad.

At least not with a smile like _that_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope my lambs are hanging in there with this quarantine! 
> 
> I finally managed to stop writing random scenes that are going to take place later in the book (I think I added 50 pages of them since last update....>.>) and get the finishing touches done here. 
> 
> Enjoy! And as always, let me know what you think! <3


	13. Jocks and Rocks

The day had been mostly a blur, though despite the copious amount of knowledge that had been seemingly shoved into your brain, you were still able to parse out that the announcement regarding the upcoming test next week in Pre-Time History was probably the most important tidbit you had come across today. In a way, you were thankful your instructor had announced it on a Friday; it gave you a whole weekend to try and get those amorphous chapters you had been studying into some kind of order.

Though, it was not as if you had not been _trying_ to do that already.

Actually, maybe the weekend was simply dangling two days of false hope in front of you. With the way you had been studying, trying to soak in so many different changes at once, you could very well imagine sitting yourself down at your desk in your room for two days straight, and rising without a single ounce of gained understanding. What would happen to your demonic GPA if you failed?

...What would happen to _you_ when Lucifer found out you did?

Swallowing the grunt you could feel pressing against your chest, you adjusted your heavy backpack and tucked thoughts of studying—and hypothetical failed test scores—aside and turned your mind to another, more pressing matter.

First things were first: Beelzebub was waiting for you to go pick up your school uniform from RAD Threads.

Well, more likely he was waiting for the stop by Hell’s Kitchen _following_ the errand, but that actually just made your feet want to move a little faster; the last thing you wanted to do, after all, was keep the Avatar of Gluttony from his meal, so you wasted no time in reaching the courtyard in front of RAD’s castle grounds.

Had Beelzebub’s towering, broad figure and fiery locks not been enough to spot the demon in front of the school, you probably could have followed the sound of munching and you would have been sure to locate him eventually. You could only imagine that he had _just_ stopped by the cafeteria on the way out the door to have the amount of snacks on his person that you could see; his pant pockets were stuffed, and bags of various food items were propped in the crooks of his arms. It reminded you of the “lazy man’s load” you sometimes used when carrying your groceries inside by yourself, actually. How Beelzebub was even balancing all of that was impressive enough, but knowing he was going to finish it all off before you even saw RAD Thread’s front door and _still_ be hungry for dinner later? It was downright magical.

Actually, in a way it seemed almost unfair that sizable load was causing him no problems at all, seeing as how you were still very much struggling with your mace and books. He really _was_ some kind of unholy tank. “Hey, Be—oh,” you began to say, though quickly clamped your lips shut before the call had gotten enough life to be heard.

It was not that you had suddenly felt like calling out over the thirty feet or so was rude that made you second guess your friendly greeting—the din around you was enough to let you know you would not have been the only one making eager conversation this afternoon—and it certainly was not a sudden fear or trepidation regarding Beelzebub himself. After all, he had been earnest when he had offered to help you pick up your tailored uniform during class, and you had no reason to doubt his sincerity.

It was less about a decision you made, and more about how your words had fled when you realized a singular detail: the demon you were meant to meet up with was not alone.

Over all, that was not unusual. Every day in Fiend Conditioning you noticed the sort of gravitational pull that seemed to draw other demons to Beelzebub like moths to a flame. You could admit seeing _why_ ; even you, just moments ago, had noted how sincere he seemed to be, and were even willing to call out to him from across the courtyard despite the fact you knew he was a demon. Still, the demons he was with now did not quite exude the motley, somewhat safe aura of a PE class.

Two of the three gathered demons were male, and while their broad chests and trunk-like thighs _would_ have made them look downright tank-ish when compared to a majority of the school, Beelzebub’s presence made them seem somehow normal. They seemed lively, having a spark settled in their eyes that reminded you a bit of some of the people you had seen in college. Like they were eager? Excited?

No, you decided.

What they appeared to be was _hungry_ —and not in an _“I want an all you can eat buffet”_ way. It was more like _“the world was theirs for the taking_ ” kind. Though, you could not help but wonder if a lowly human might appeal to them regardless.

The final presence belonged to a female, though it seemed somehow a disservice to think of her with such plain words. Her body, even through the RAD uniform, was enough to have instantly signed modeling contracts, and her black locks, veined in a rosy shade of pink, caught the Devildom moonlight in a way that made you wonder if she had a professional stylist following her around. But it was her eyes that made you nearly miss your step; they were almost hypnotic, like she could have made you do anything, so long as you were trapped under her attention.

For a moment you hesitated; Beelzebub had been nice enough so far, and you had a hard time imagining that any demons the Avatar of Gluttony counted amongst his friends could be the stuff of your nightmares. Still, it seemed second nature for your strides to shorten and stutter, for no other reason than the four of them looked like they _fit_ together in a way that a human such of yourself could never dare to.

Actually, it might not have been the fact you were human that gave you pause this time, you began to consider. Perhaps it was a residual effect from your less than glorious time spent in high school those years ago, but it was like suddenly all you could hear was your own radar blaring a warning that you were approaching the jocks of RAD, and that a nerd like you had no reason to cross paths with them.

Was it because they were more attractive than you? Obviously athletic?

In the week you had been attending classes, you had attempted to keep your head down. While you prided yourself somewhat on being vaguely successful in minimizing your presence amongst a school of demons, it had not allowed you to _really_ learn the ins and outs of the school culture here. Uniforms had turned the seas of students into similar figures in your mind, which meant you had not managed to sniff out if there were cliques at RAD or not.

You took a deep breath to re-steel yourself for the approach, your feet shuffling forward in forced, careful steps. While a part of you definitely wanted to find a place to linger casually until the three strangers left for fear of either interrupting or perhaps becoming a late lunch, the larger, more reasonable part of you knew that adulting _sometimes_ required you to socialize.

…And there was always the possibility they would not leave until Beelzebub himself did. If you did not suck it up and somehow missed RAD Threads’ operating hours, Lucifer was going to be _way_ scarier than whoever these people were.

Your steps became a bit more hurried with _that_ fire lit beneath them, and soon you could even begin to pick out their laughter amongst the rest of the post-release bell din. Beelzebub caught sight of you as you approached, his orange head bobbing in a nod of greeting as he seemingly swallowed whatever food he had been munching on. Doing your best to smile in return, you could not help but note the other three demons shifted around to eye you, varying degrees of surprise coating their features when they realized the Avatar of Gluttony was looking at _you_. Clearly, the poor human exchange student was not who they expected to see.

Under the weight of their stares, your skin suddenly felt a bit too cool for the moderate Devildom air around you, and a small shiver ricocheted up your spine like lightning. “H-hey, Beel,” you greeted, voice hitching for a moment as it sought use.

At least one of the other demons seemed surprised you could use his nickname, it seemed; his brow lifted faintly, and his dark eyes flickered between you and his redheaded friend quickly as if trying to read if this was somehow offensive or worthy of unholy retribution.

Beelzebub, though, merely gave you a small smile, and you felt it ease at least a thread of the anxiety you had felt tightening about your neck. “Hey, (Y/N). Ready?”

It was like a weight in your chest suddenly lifted, seeing the rather down-to-earth—down-to- _Devildom_?—friendly way the sixth born greeted you. It almost felt like you had a friend.

Almost.

“Whenever you are,” you decided to answer, trying to give an approachable smile to his friends as well. You found none of them keen to return the gesture. “You can stay and chat some more if you want, I’m sure we don’t have to rush…” You awkwardly murmured, hurriedly deciding to shift your attention away from the sour faces and back toward your housemate.

“Oh, got plans today, Beel?” One of the male demons inquired before any response could be offered, his gaze, heavy with curiosity, shifting away from you and back toward the Avatar of Gluttony.

Beelzebub nodded. “Yeah. (Y/N) needs to pick up their secondary uniform, and Mammon can’t bring them.” 

A small, derisive snort sounded, and the lone female of the group crossed her arms, eyes like a sunset peering at you with the same safety as a blizzard. “Sounds like Mammon gave you the short end of the stick,” she observed. The timbre of her tone was feminine, and you were certain it was a voice that would have been at home in darkness, or in the pulsing whirlwind of music blaring over a crowded, smoky dance floor. Still, the somewhat sultry, inviting air to her voice was little more than a cracked veneer—you could feel the claws of her meaning regardless.

It caused an embarrassed heat to immediately flare on your face, and it seemed impossible to keep your eyes up; maybe there was a class offered at RAD that taught demons specifically how to glare, because it seemed absolutely every single one of them was a veritable _master_. Beside you, though, Beelzebub frowned curiously. “It’s not so bad. We’re going to Hell’s Kitchen after, so I can get food.”

“Oh, well,” the demon purred next, her sharp eyes shifting away from you to nearly flutter for Beelzebub. “I suppose as long as you get to eat, it isn’t a _total_ waste.”

Your lips pressed tighter together, because the implication that the parts that involved you directly _were_ a waste was about as obvious as a neon sign in the dark. Still, this was still the Devildom; you figured anytime you wanted to rock the boat or stand up for yourself, you had to consider if this was a hill worth dying on. And honestly? This was not.

“Hmm. Yeah, can’t wait for a burger…” Beelzebub hummed as he crumpled the bag of whatever chips he had finished, tossing it perfectly into the wastebasket that was nearby without so much as needing to glance. His eyes fell to you, sparkling like polished gems. “We better be off. RAD Threads is in the center of town.”

You forced a smile, the motion somewhat oblique. “Sorry to bother you.”

Beelzebub merely smiled in reassurance, turning back toward his friends once more. “I’ll see you at practice tomorrow. C’mon, (Y/N).”

“Coming,” you called, and as the tall redhead began to move, you skittered after him like some kind of puppy on its master’s heel. You could feel the demons’ eyes trailing after the two of you like cattle prods, and you skipped ahead to make sure you were closer to you demonic babysitter than not—just in case.

Purple eyes flicked to you thoughtfully, and the long strides the Avatar of Gluttony had been keeping slowed to something a bit more manageable for you. Perhaps it was on purpose, though there was a chance it was simply a side-effect of the redhead’s frankly heavy study of your face. “Don’t worry about them,” he asserted, somehow managing to finagle another one of his snack bags open without breaking eye contact. “They’re nice.”

Was he…trying to make you feel better?

You wondered if it was annoying to a demon for you to be constantly on edge, afraid of everyone around you. It probably did not feel _good_ ; at the best one could make an argument that you did not trust anyone around you, and at worst, it could likely be posited that you held direct distaste. Your heart skipped, and you sucked in a quick, quiet breath. “Oh! No, I’m just socially awkward in general,” you offered, giving him a somewhat self-deprecating smile. It was not, you supposed, a total lie. You _did_ tend to get flustered around new people—that wait until you were comfortable with someone was agonizing—but it had only been about a week since you had been plopped into an exchange program you had no recollection of ever signing up for, and you _were_ still scared.

In fact, it probably would have been stranger if you were _not._

“You said you’d see them at practice tomorrow,” you decided to offer, intent on tugging the demon away from your little lie to move onto other topics. “…Do they play sports, too?”

You were not sure whether Beelzebub believed you were not afraid of his friends or not; he did, however, at least give you the common courtesy to move on without voicing any doubt or stating otherwise. “You know I play sports?” He questioned. His brow lifted, the look of surprise on his face almost innocent in a way.

“Ah—yeah. Solomon mentioned you played on a team,” you laughed with a small shrug. “But I might’ve assumed that even if I didn’t know. You look like the type who would be into that kind of stuff.”

Beelzebub frowned somewhat, crumbs dropping like edible snow from the corners of his mouth. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you just look like a guy who likes to stay active,” you explained hurriedly. “It isn’t an insult, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s actually very impressive! I’ve actually never met anyone in real life who looks as strong as you do, so…”

The frown that was knitting over his brow released, a smile spreading over his lips. “Thank you,” he rumbled happily. “I like to keep at the top of my game.”

“I would imagine you’re the top of _most_ people’s game,” you smirked. You had not seen a single student in Fiend Conditioning even come _close_ to his level at anything yet, and somehow you doubted a demon could hold an Avatar title without being the cream of the proverbial demonic crop.

“But you’re right. Raum and Rax are on the team with me,” Beelzebub responded. His tone was lighter now, and the way his eyes were shining was enough to let you know what he felt about his team. “Mora is one of the succubi on the cheer squad, though.”

A cheerleader? Maybe you were not actually surprised by that. No wonder you had felt that nagging voice start to pester you about being a nerd when you had been approaching them earlier—they really _were_ the jocks at RAD. “That’s really cool. I heard it’s a professional circuit?”

It seemed almost second nature now to fill in the empty space; the center of town really was a ways off, and you did not think you could handle your own thoughts if it happened to stay silent for too long. Luckily, it seemed Beelzebub was actually eager to talk himself—perhaps more because he was passionate about his interests than it was because he enjoyed _you_. Still, you would not look a gift demon in the mouth.

“Mhm,” the redhead nodded. “We’re the Hydras—best Fangol team in the Devildom.”

What you knew about _human_ sports could be summed up with the general idea that opposing teams wore different colors, and naturally what you knew about demon sports amounted to even less; still, despite your lack of true knowledge, looking at the way Beelzebub’s lips coiled in a smile made you absolutely willing to believe he was one hundred percent right about this. “I’m not surprised to hear that, actually, after seeing you in Fiend Conditioning,” you remarked.

“Do you play sports, (Y/N)?” He rumbled in question.

 _Ah_. That was a logical question, given the way the conversation was going. Still, somehow it still took you off guard, and you began to wonder if the friendly air you had begun to generate between the demon and yourself would disappear and sour if you admitted you did not. But lying was not really your style, either. “Haha, not really,” you admitted with a small shrug. “Beyond P.E. in school, I’ve never really played much of anything. I didn’t really fit in with the sporty kids—I guess I’m more of a bookish sort.”

“You’re like Satan, then,” Beelzebub commented thoughtfully.

For a moment you pictured the blond in your mind, and while you had not for a moment thought his svelte figure lacked strength, you had to admit it was not the same type of strength the Avatar of Gluttony sported. “I…doubt he would want to be compared to me,” you laughed dismissively, the sound abrupt and awkward. “I haven’t spoken with him often, but I’m pretty sure Satan’s IQ is higher than Mount Everest.”

Beelzebub nodded, a thoughtful hum on his lips as he polished off the latest bag of food. “Hm…yeah. I don’t think a mountain reads as many books. Rock giants don’t usually do that.”

“Wait,” you pressed, almost on instinct. Your face flared in surprise, eyes whipping to mark the demon beside you as you continued to keep pace at his flank. “I didn’t mean—are you saying that death trap is actually a monster?” You could not even manage to eke out the assertion you had been using a metaphor before your brain saw fit to interrupt you.

You did not really know what a rock giant _was_ , per se, but you had an inkling it had to be some kind of large golem creature. Could Mount Everest _get up_? _Walk around_? Suddenly the Devildom air was chilly, and you felt the color bleed from your face as if trying to chase the heat pooling in your chest.

Beelzebub eyed you, frown edging in on the corner of his lips. Like the times he had frowned at you before, the expression was in no way malicious; it felt more bred of curiosity. Or confusion. “Humans would probably call a rock giant a monster, yeah. You’re talking about reading, right? I didn’t think mountains could read in the human world, so wouldn’t it have to be a rock giant?”

Your heart sputtered, the mass exodus of heat from your face suddenly swarming back with vengeance. “Ah,” you sounded, realization sinking in with the subtlety of a hammer. Miscommunication due to cultural barrier. Classic. “No, I didn’t mean the mountain _read_ , it was an analogy. Basically, I was saying Satan was way smarter than me,” you opted to deflect, looking back to the street to hide your somewhat embarrassed expression. You were unsure how successful you were—not when you could feel Beelzebub’s eyes still boring into you with that same steady, calm gaze. “But…rock giants, huh? You…you have those here?”

Beelzebub nodded, his expression lightening. “Yeah, but not in the city. Sometimes the team goes to wrestle them for off season training.”

“Sounds impressive!” You remarked.

“I doubt you’ll see them,” he added, the tone somehow reminiscent of how you would imagine one might speak to a child asking to go on the scary ride at a theme park. “Humans are fragile, so I don’t think Lucifer would risk you getting crushed by the boulders they throw around.”

Yeah, you did not think you really wanted to even ask for permission. You gave a small laugh and shrugged. “Fine by me. So far, the Devildom is adventurous enough.”

Beelzebub was still studying you as you finally made your way into the town proper. The shops you had passed with Lucifer and Mammon in the Catafalque Cab were vaguely familiar to your eye, their lights glaring against the overall dark of the day. You and your accompanying demon settled into quiet, though it was not uncomfortable in any way. You were fine, at any rate, and the Avatar of Gluttony seemed alike to you in that some silence was comfortable to him. At least, he appeared to be comfortable from the glances you stole as you wound further into town. For a while he was munching on the armful of snacks he had been carrying since RAD, but those soon disappeared, the wrappings tossed and forgotten into the waste bins lined upon the street.

Now, the further you tread, the _less_ comfortable he appeared. The redhead’s strides were shortening, and his face was becoming somewhat shadowed—like a frown was going to threaten to break through at any moment. You wondered for a moment if you maybe had done something wrong, though before you could voice a question to inquire if he was all right, you heard the rumble of his stomach.

“Oh!” You piped, quickly reaching to swing your bag around to sift out some snacks. “Here. I promise I’ll be fast and we can get to Hell’s Kitchen.”

The demon reached, taking hold of the pack of what you _hoped_ was crackers, nodding. “All right. The shop’s up here on the corner.” Beelzebub managed a nod in indication, even as he ripped open the bag and began to dig for its contents.

You were admittedly somewhat relieved seeing the glowing lettering overhead once more.

If you could hurry in, if you could get your uniform quickly, _maybe_ you could stay on this particular demon’s good side for a while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lambs!
> 
> I'm not dead, but a l m o s t. Hahahaha--just kidding. Sorry it took me so long to get this next installment up; I got burned out on literally everything and just couldn't even handle my fandoms. 
> 
> This is shorter than I intended, but I at least am dipping my toe back in. I will get better, I promise!
> 
> I just wanted to make sure I got something up before Valentine's Day!
> 
> Hope you enjoy. <3


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